


Converge

by Hephy



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anal Sex, Complete, Frosthawk - Freeform, Jötunheimr | Jotunheim, Loki - Freeform, M/M, Oral Sex, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-12
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2017-12-29 04:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 42,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1000621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hephy/pseuds/Hephy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint and Loki find themselves stranded and alone together. They form an alliance for the sake of survival. Stuff happens.</p>
<p>  <i>“You shouldn’t apologize to the enemy.”</i><br/><i>“Yeah, well…” Clint poked the fire, “Thor wants to see a day where you’re not the enemy. He wants his brother back.”</i><br/><i>“I don’t want to go back. Things can never be the same as they were.”</i><br/><i>“You’re right. They can’t.”</i><br/><i>Loki’s eyes moved to him, as though surprised by his words.</i><br/><i>Clint’s gaze never faltered, “But they can be better than this.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to stray from canon on an array of different levels. This story is mostly based off the Marvel movies, but may hint at inspirations from all over. I consider this to take place after the events of The Avengers, but I’m not the boss of your imagination so dream away.

Part I

 

_“I’m not sure how it happened. Everything was as it usually is in combat; fast, often unpredictable, and sometimes survival is nothing more than individual sparks of luck coming together in just the right order to save your life._

_Or condemn you to death._

_But I’m not dead. Yet. Give it time, though. There’s still a chance for Death to reconsider my admission.”_

“How poetic.”

“Hey, hey! I don’t need your condescending, sardonic jabs on a regular basis and I definitely don’t need them now. Also, you should be careful with your tone since I’m the only one here to stitch your godly ass up, what with you being powerless and unable to magic yourself better n’all.”

“Magic doesn’t work like that. Not on me.”

“That’s unconvenient.”

“ _In_ convenient.”

“Same thing.”

“ _Ahgh_!”

“Whoops. Sorry.” The glare he received contained a sharpness that knew he wasn’t nearly as sorry as he should have been. He did feel for him, though. He’d been stitched up without pain meds before, and from the looks of the tattering this wasn’t exactly a walk in the park. It was _bad_.

“Jesus, you’re bleeding too much.”

“Just _finish_.” Noted emphasis to express discomfort.

_Good_ , he thought. They could be uncomfortable together, because he had major league issues stitching up the enemy. Keeping his expression stoic, he moved to the last section of separated skin and delved the needle in.

Loki hissed and his following breaths were short and choppy until he succeeded in rebuilding his composure. His fist slammed against the rock to his side and he swallowed a mouthful of obscenities.

“Easy. You’re almost done.”

His head fell back and he tried to relax.

“You feel like explaining what happened back there and how we ended up in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere?”

“ _No_.”

“Suit yourself.” Clint wove the needle in and out expertly. He’d had years of practice stitching wounds. While he’d seen worse it didn’t mean this one couldn’t be fatal. He tidied up and wiped the stitching clean.

“What did you do to me?”

“Saved your life, you ungrateful jerk. I should get a medal, considering you’re the bad guy.”

“Not that. I speak of the absence of my power.”

“Oh, that.” Clint stood and walked to his quiver. He cleaned the needle as best he could and returned it to its tiny medical tin before tucking it away in his quiver.

Loki glared at the back of his head, “ _Well_?”

“You’re not getting any points for attitude, buddy. I suggest you tone down the tone.”

“How dare you.”

Clint wheeled on him, “How dare I _what_?”

Loki’s glare increased every step Clint advanced on him.

“How dare I defend my home? How dare I protect people I care about? How dare I save the life of a _villain_ who threatened everything I know and love? I may not be up to date on the most recent publication outlining social norms, but I’m pretty sure saving the life of the guy who was trying to kill you is a pretty stupid thing to do and is, by no means, _normal_.  And all that after what you did to me? After the mind control and making me kill fellow comrades? You say how dare me? I say how dare you!” He speared a finger in his direction, eyes ablaze. He turned away the next instant and used snow to cleanse his hands of the blood drizzling between his knuckles.

Loki chuckled and it was wicked, “How long have you been holding all that in? Does it eat you up inside? Burn? Perhaps haunt you while you sleep?”

Clint turned his head to the side but refused to face him fully, “I find solace knowing your sleep is none better.” He walked away.

Loki’s smirk evaporated and he watched the cut figure of an expert marksman disappear behind a cluster of snow-blanketed trees. He shifted, grunting as his wound pulled from the freshness of stitches, and found a more comfortable incline to ease his back and spare his body the tension. He snapped his fingers and shook out his wrist.

Nothing. Not even a spark of magic remained. He let his head tip and rest against the mound of snow. His clothes were wet and restricting and he felt no inclination to secure the front of his coat. It would cover his injuries but it would also cause an uncomfortable abrasiveness.

He waited, knowing he wouldn’t be alone for long. The bulky quiver had been left, although it was missing both arrows it had upon their arrival.

Loki swallowed and found his throat dry despite the lingering taste of blood in his mouth. He meditated to distract his mind from his suffering. His eyes remained closed until a noise alerted him.

“Welcome back, sleeping beauty.”

Loki looked around, surprised to find it dark.

“Yeah, that’s right, you took quite the nap.”

He glanced from one corner of their haven to another, “I was meditating.”

“Meditating. Coma. Passing out like a wuss. Call it whatever you like.” Clint poked at the fire he’d nurtured into a hearty blaze. Something was cooking. It was a small animal of some kind, skewered across the flames on what looked like one of the two arrows.

“You moved me? Here?”

“Carried you like the dead weight you are. Shot this thing, which I’m going to call a bunny to make myself feel better. Know anything about the indigenous creatures here?”

Loki spared it a moment’s observation, “Poisonous if it had red fur.”

Clint held up a brown pelt, “Good to know. Since you were so nice to share information I’ll share dinner with you.”

Loki moved to sit upright.

“Careful.”

He hissed and his body tensed, which tightened the grip of pain. He tried to amend his mistake but succeeded in further jarring his body when he slipped. His breath stuttered from the onset of what felt like enflamed spears bursting from his stitching.

“Easy, easy!” Clint was at his side immediately and assisting him into a reclined position. A hand came up and shoved him.

“Don’t _touch_ me.”

“Jesus,” Clint staggered, “chill out. I was just trying to help.”

Loki drew a burdened breath and sized him up as though afraid he’d come near again. When Clint didn’t move to advance he dropped his head back, closed his eyes, and sighed. He looked defeated.

Clint knew that look. It was someone trying to deal with multiple strains of discomfort. Loki was in pain, powerless, afraid, and probably short on options. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and licked his lips.

“You and I know better than this. You shouldn’t be helping me.”

“Yeah?” Clint plopped on the stump that served as his chair, “And what else would you have me do?”

“You should be killing me while you have the chance.”

Clint didn’t respond.

“If you don’t, I’ll kill you once I regain my powers.”

“If. If you regain them.”

Loki fixed him with a hard stare that hinted he took insult, “Whatever little parlor trick was performed to seal my magic can be broken. And when I do break it I’ll be sure to break you next.”

“That’s not a very nice thing to say to the guy making you dinner. But you know what? I’m going to overlook it this time, because I know hunger is making you grumpy.”

Loki’s stomach growled and his face distorted as if he was irate and asking his body why it chose that second to betray him.

“See? Your tummy knows what it wants.”

“You are insufferable.” He slung an arm over his eyes and fell silent despite Clint’s continued attempts at conversation.

The supportive metal base of Clint’s quiver functioned as a pot and he used the cooked meat and melted snow to make soup. He let the makeshift pot cool until it was able to be handled and then seated himself beside Loki.

“You first, lest I infect you with my cooties.”

Loki’s brow knit, “Your _what_? Are you diseased?”

“What? No. Jeeze, it’s just a joke.” Clint studied the look he was receiving, “Okay, I get it; not funny. Just… _here_.” He extended the bowl to him.

Loki sat up, slower this time, and accepted it. He inspected it, sniffed it, and raised it to his lips for a small sip. Memories flashed through his mind. He’d had this meal years ago, and many times, when traveling with Thor.

“You okay?”

Loki licked his lips and took a long swallow from the bowl. He handed it back and said nothing.

“Good to know.” Clint took a tentative sip, “Actually this is better than I expected.” He made himself comfortable and they passed the bowl between them until it was gone. He kept the fire going with kindling he’d collected. It warmed the little cave. Large branches that curved overhead held most of the snow at bay. A gap in the tree limbs where he’d cleared snow acted as a chimney of sorts to allow the smoke to escape.

As night stretched on, Loki looked ready to sleep again. Clint took Loki’s cape from where he’d hung it near the fire to dry and draped it over both of them. He ignored the dirty look Loki gave him at having to share something that was his and was glad when a sharp comment never came.

“You got it right, by the way.”

Loki sounded annoyed in his state of exhaustion, “Do I care to know what it is you speak of?”

“ _I speaketh of_ your magic being gone. Wasn’t my idea, for the record. Also, we weren’t supposed to end up here. Wherever here is. That one escapes me.”

“The location is my doing, but had I known my magic would be sealed I would have chosen somewhere far more convenient for unsealing it.”

“Ah, so that makes things a bit clearer on both ends.” Clint tucked the cape under himself to keep in warmth, “So where are we?”

Loki sighed, “Jotunheim.”

Clint ceased his fidgeting, “Oh, well, fuck.”

 

 

Sunlight peeked through the entrance to the shelter and woke Clint. He lifted his head and looked around, groggy and stiff. The air tasted unpolluted and gave him a sense of energy despite his hazy mind. He was somewhat not cold, if nothing else, and Loki wasn’t spewing venom at him thanks to being unconscious and curled away from him.

He stumbled out of the shelter to relieve himself. Small animal prints dotted the area around the trees where they had slept. Native creatures must have been curious as to who their visitors were. Maybe he could nab one for breakfast.

Grabbing his bow and an arrow, he followed the freshest set of prints. It led him to a bunny-thing about twice the size of the one he’d prepared last night. A well-placed arrow awarded a clean kill and he gladly returned to the cover of base.

Loki woke to the renewed crackling of fire and smell of cooking meat. He rolled onto his back and held a hand to block the sun from striking his eyes.

“Breakfast is almost ready. Afterwards we should be on our way to maybe find better digs.” Clint could tell Loki was miserable. Still in pain and no doubt stiff from the awkward sleeping arrangements meant the morning wouldn’t be pleasant attitude-wise.

But Loki didn’t speak. He eventually made it to his feet and left the shelter. Clint imagined he was doing as he had done earlier. He continued to prod the fire out of boredom.

A muffled noise grabbed his attention and he focused his hearing. He’d heard similar sounds from rookies he’d trained.

Loki was vomiting, albeit quietly. Clint returned his eyes to the fire and told himself he didn’t feel sorry for him.

He told himself seven times, and then he stood up to check on him. The walk wasn’t far, maybe all of twelve paces, and Loki was hunched over with one arm braced against a tree for balance. His other hand was gripping his midsection, which Clint knew was bludgeoning him with pain from the heaving.

Clint watched him scoop a handful of snow and take a mouthful. It melted and he did a thorough ‘swish and spit’ and then leaned further into the tree. The wind was less than gentle on Clint’s skin so he ventured a guess that Loki wouldn’t retain heat for long.

“Come on.” Clint guided him by the shoulders toward the shelter, “We shouldn’t stand in the wind.”

Loki put up no fuss. They ate in silence and Clint packed his limited gear into his quiver. He laced his boots good and tight and was on his feet ready to leave.

Loki offered no signs of budging.

“You’re hurting.” It was a statement Loki couldn’t deny. His arm across his lower ribs and the tenseness of his jaw said enough. His mild trembling wasn’t from the cold. Clint dug through his medical tin and produced a dose of painkillers.

“Take these. It’ll help.” He lifted Loki’s hand and placed the pills on his palm before rolling his fingers closed.

“What is it?”

“Something to help the pain.”

Loki looked up at him, seeming small and void of hope, “You should leave me here.”

“Probably.” He produced a small bottle he’d filled with boiled snow-water and helped Loki take the pills. After twenty minutes he assisted him to his feet and they set off.

Four hours into their trek, Loki looked exhausted. The pain was coming back and Clint didn’t have more pills. He let Loki sit in the sun on a rock he dusted of snow as he scouted ahead. He was gone less than thirty minutes, he was sure, and when he returned Loki was sleeping. He woke him.

“Hey, I found a better place to rest. Come on, it’s not far.”

Loki struggled on, following in Clint’s boot prints. The ten minutes it took to reach the destination felt like hours to him.

“This is it. Better than before. Obviously super romantic.”

Loki lifted his eyes and scanned the cove, ignoring his comment. A stream trickled from a rock façade. They were at the base of mountains. From here, the face of a cliff jutted in and out as it ran skyward.

Loki inclined his head and closed his eyes. He exhaled and it looked to Clint like the sigh of a man who couldn’t win in life and had come to accept this moment as another stab of bad luck.

“Something wrong?” Clint sized him up, having not cared for the face of defeat.

Loki looked at him, “We are safe from danger this far south, but we are also far from much of anything else.”

Clint threw a few glances around before settling his attention back to his only company, “You can tell that from a random slab of rock?”

“These mountains are the only ones containing the iron to color the rock red. I know where we lie, and it is weeks of travel on foot, at the very least, before you’ll find anything useful.”

“Great. Way to stay positive. Loving the death glare, too. Keep that one up. Kinda turns me on.”

“I imagine that’s not difficult to do.”

“Ow. Hurtful.” Clint began breaking down branches from the nearest tree. Loki found a rock clear of snow to sit on. He pulled his cape tighter around his shoulders and noted the pink tinge to Clint’s revealed shoulders. His employment as an archer had him clothed in an arms-free fashion, but now the style of dress hindered his survival.

Clint never complained about the cold, even as his skin grew pinker the longer he worked. In time he struck fire and had a nice supply of kindling built. He used his quiver as a seat, much like one would a log, and sat near the flames until he warmed.

“I’ll be back in a while. Hopefully with dinner.” Clint took both arrows and his bow and left Loki alone again.

Loki took over sitting on the quiver and found the heat of the fire returned some life to his body. He still ached, but it was more tolerable. He dozed off, finding sleep was a preferable way to pass his miserable time, but woke at the first sound of company.

Clint was back and judging from the lighting it had been hours since he’d left. His nose and cheeks were pink and stinging. His arms weren’t in much better shape. He was also empty handed. Loki eyed him, slow and somber.

“No luck.” Loki motioned for him to sit beside him.

Clint walked numb-limbed over and eased to the cleared ground. Dead grass had been warmed and dried by the fire and it was nice to be out of the wind. He was exhausted from trudging through snow and his body was letting him know his exertion had worked up a fierce hunger. His stomach growled.

“Dammit.” Clint inhaled and exhaled and attempted to convince his stomach it was mistaken.

“Perhaps you should try snares. While you were gone several potential meals wandered by.”

“Yeah.” He sounded weary, “Yeah, good idea.” He turned and pulled a bundle of twine from his quiver. He looped the twine and used a sturdy piece of kindling as a stake. He placed two around the area, out of sight, but the plan was lacking. He didn’t have any incentive for the critters.

The sound of snow crunching made him turn. Loki stood there, cape pulled about his shoulders like a lifeline, and held out something green. He looked between the bundle of leaves and budding twigs and Loki’s face.

“It’s bait.”

“Oh.” Clint held his hand out and accepted it, “Um, thanks.”

 

 

Night crept upon them. The cold cut deep this time, and Clint eventually huddled close to a near-sleeping Loki and made him share the cape. The fire was built away from the lashing wind, but the shade of darkness aided nature’s plan to freeze them solid little by little.

Loki grunted when Clint invaded his personal space but appeared too tired to argue or shoo him. After too long a time their combined body heat finally came through and offered a simple comfort. Clint sniffled and covered his cold nose with a corner of the cape. Loki slipped into sleep long before he did, but when exhaustion finally won out they were leaning against one another as reliant supports.

Clint wasn’t sure how long he was asleep, but it felt like mere seconds. Keening yelps jarred both of them to coherency.

Clint was on his feet, an arrow already in hand, and jumping over the fire before Loki’s eyes even focused. The sharp death cry of a small animal answered all the rising questions and concerns Loki had.

Something had been caught in one of the snares and Clint had killed it. Loki pulled back his annoyance at the disturbance to his sleep when he saw the limp body hanging from Clint’s hand.

“Looks like we get dinner after all.”

Loki said nothing, but he was glad for the food once it was ready. He ate slow and delicate. It was much neater than the way Clint ate, and far more finicky.

Clint used snow to clean his hands again. After they were dry he pulled aside the open front of Loki’s jacket to peek at the stitching. There was extensive bruising but none of the stitches had pulled.

“You really got roughed up that time.” He let the garment fall as it pleased and took a drink of their melted snow water. Loki was silent but didn’t seem bothered by his mention of the Hulk’s handiwork.

In fact, it was to his surprise that Loki scooted to his side when he finished eating and willingly shared his cape. He took it as a type of thank you for dinner. Or maybe Loki wanted his warmth.

That was probably it, but he wasn’t complaining as he piled a hefty log onto the fire.

 

 

Loki was in bad shape the next morning. He was stubborn and unwilling to rise for travel. Clint gave him a day, which was spent sleeping.

Loki slept for twelve hours before waking to empty his bladder. He returned to his cozy bundle of cape and proceeded to sleep for another four. It was night by the time he was coherent, but that didn’t help them for travel plans.

Clint gathered a generous pile of kindling and had gone on several hunting treks but returned empty handed every time. That was the bad news, since he was hungry again and Loki was awake to silently judge him.

“Hungry?” Clint sat beside him and poked the fire.

“I’m fine.”

“For now. Until you need the energy to stay warm in this un-fucking-believably cold-ass climate.”

Loki shrugged, “It is spring.”

“Oh, god, don’t tell me that. Don’t _tell_ me that!”

Loki yawned.

Another hour and Loki admitted to himself he was hungry. Clint seemed to catch on.

“I don’t have any critters to cook, but I do have something.” He pulled a flat, rectangular item from his quiver and held it up. It was a little bent, as though broken inside the wrapping. Loki eyed it, and then him.

“It’s chocolate. Interested?”

Loki’s brow knit into a questioning tension.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had chocolate before.”

“That does not appear to be chocolate.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, it’s kinda processed and molded into blocks. It’s good, though.” He opened the wrapping and snapped off a square and handed it to him. Loki turned it over in his hand. He waited and watched Clint bite off a square before he slipped his own into his mouth.

Biting into the chunk sent a sharp pleasure-pain to the back of his jaw. He covered his mouth with his fingertips and inhaled. He could _feel_ Clint smiling at him.

“Glad you like it.”

They fell into silence. The fire crackled as though it had much to express, and its lapping flames teased at darting out to touch them but never did.

Clint chuckled to himself.

“Something funny?” Loki nudged him, though it was an unintentional brush from adjusting against the rock at their backs.

“I always thought about those what-if scenarios. Mostly the desert island one.”

“The what?”

“The desert island scenario. People ask if you were stranded on a desert island with one person who would you want that one person to be? Or what would be the one item you wished you had. Never thought I’d be stranded in another realm. Especially not one as frigid as this.”

Loki’s head lolled against the rock as though it pained him to play along, “If you were stranded on a desert island with one person, who would that ideal person be?”

Clint grinned, “Tony Stark.”

“ _Why_?”

“One – he’s Iron Man. He could just fly us off the damn thing. Two – even if he didn’t have his suit he’d find a way off. Either that, or someone somewhere would come looking for his all-important ass.”

Loki sighed, “All you have to do is hope you can survive his personality.”

Clint laughed outright at that, “Point taken.”

They were silent for a time again, until Loki broke it.

“Had you known you’d end up here with me, what would you have brought?”

Clint eyed him, watching the reflection of fire flicker in his exhausted gaze, “Right now I’m wishing I had marshmallows and graham crackers to go with this.” He waved what remained of the chocolate bar in a lazy wrist motion.

Loki turned and met his eyes, “Not clothing? Tools?”

“Nah. I can make those in time. Marshmallows and crackers are harder to come by out here.”

The odd look Loki gave him made him curious.

“You ever have marshmallows?”

“I don’t know what that is. Something you humans enjoy, I assume.”

“Oh, man. Enemies or not, if we make it out of here I’ll get you some marshmallows. Then I’ll show you how awesome they are when combined with graham crackers and chocolate over a fire.”

“I’ll hold you to that, providing I don’t kill you.”

“Man, you really need to work on your social skills.”

 

 

Clint rubbed the stubble coming in on his chin. It was at that itchy stage he hated but could rarely avoid. Apparently Loki didn’t grow facial hair, because his face was as baby soft as ever.

The sun was up and Clint was trying to rouse someone who just didn’t want to be roused. It took nearly an hour before Loki surrendered and was up and about and he was less than pleased.

Clint kept his eyes alert for movement and his fingers stayed on his bowstring as they traveled. He stopped, spotting a small animal, and drew his bowstring taught.

Loki bumped into him and the arrow shot into the air at too-high an angle and lodged itself near the top of a tree with a solid _thunk_. The animal fled.

Clint whirled on Loki, who stumbled but regained his footing looking as irate as he felt.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Clint gestured to the treetop that now owned his arrow.

“If you’re implying I am to know exactly when and where you intend to stop without warning…”

“I expect you to at least pay some attention. I came through that fucking portal with two arrows, Loki. _Two_. Now I have _one_.”

Loki’s expression darkened. He didn’t care for being interrupted, and certainly not in this fashion.

“You can’t expect me to warn you when I’m trying to avoid warning what I intend to kill, cook, and eat. If you’re going to walk close enough to breathe down my neck then you can damn well keep an eye on your surroundings.”

“I don’t like your tone.”

Clint made a wild gesture, “You think I _care_ if you like my tone? You’re a war criminal in the eyes of Earth and I shouldn’t even be giving you the luxury of sharing my food, let alone sewing you back up so you wouldn’t bleed to death.”

“I never asked for your help.”

“And yet you need it.”

Loki seethed, “I don’t need assistance from a mortal to survive in the very realm I was birthed.”

“You know what? Great. That’s great. It must be convenient – you were born here and you can die here whining like the spoiled brat you are.”

Loki punched him.

No sooner had the strike landed did Clint’s arm lash out. He backhanded Loki, sending him to the snowy ground and descended on him to pin his arms above his head. In the back of his mind Clint was aware one of his knees glanced off Loki’s injury, but he was too mad to care even as the face before him stiffened to hide just how much the connection hurt.

Loki looked up at him, eyes glassy and portraying a surprise Clint didn’t quite understand.

“You’re such a fucking bitch. I can’t believe I was helping you.”

Loki’s face abolished his shock and hardened into rage, “Get _off_ me!” He tore one of his hands free and shoved Clint in a shoulder to set him off balance.

Clint slapped him again. The hit resonated and Loki fell motionless except for his labored breathing. His hair, skewed across his eyes from the abuse, blinded him.

Clint pushed off and began trudging to retrieve his dropped bow, “All because your brother thinks there’s hope for you. Oh, wait, that’s right – _he’s not your brother_.”

The words had bite, and Clint didn’t look back.

Loki rolled onto his side, clutching his ribs and regulating his breathing as tears squeezed past his defenses. It hurt to be mortal. More than he ever expected. He wondered if it hurt more to die, and if he’d find out before nightfall.


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frost Giants, broken bows, and body heat - oh my!

Part II

 

Clint fueled his anger into energy and made tracks until he came across a snaggle-toothed creature of hideous genetics, which he estimated to be the size of a really fat raccoon. He shot it through an eye with his lone arrow. It hadn’t noticed him and died almost instantly, to his relief.

He must have dragged the body a mile or more before finding a suitable place to start a fire and build shelter. Daylight was running thin by the time he’d finished his setup. There was no Loki to tell him if his ugly dinner guest was poisonous or not so he made sure to cook it extra-well-done and test a tidbit. He waited to see if he had any kind of reaction. After an hour he wasn’t dead, which was long enough for his stomach to throw caution to the wind and snow. He dug in and ate more than he would under normal circumstances.

No Loki also meant no sharing of body heat or fancy cape. That was a downer, but Clint made do with branches and leaves as insulation and the wind-blocking structure of trees to shield him.

Sleep did not come easy, even when he grew somewhat warm. At the back of his mind lurked guilt and worry.

“Stop it.” He told his brain.

But it didn’t matter. Bubbling forth from the center of what made him a hero was the voice that told him he’d been bad. He had done something he would look back on and not be proud of.

He’d left Loki alone, injured, and vulnerable. And he’d said Thor wasn’t his brother.

“Well, it’s _true_.” He said it but at heart he didn’t believe it. Thor still called Loki his brother, and if Thor felt that way then Clint had no right to say otherwise. They may not have been brothers in blood, but Clint knew the bonds forged by choice were often stronger.

Clint heaved a sigh, “I am such a dick.” He threw off his blanket of leaves and twigs and slung his quiver over his shoulder and marched off in the dead of night to find Loki.

“You better not be dead when I find you, otherwise this whole freezing my ass off for your sake would be in vain.”

 

 

Loki spent his night curled in a tight ball near a fire that had taken him hours to build. He’d fed it generously and piled kindling near to keep it alive. Despite his best efforts he housed a constant chill and his sleep was fitful.

Morning cast light onto his face and he woke exhausted. His was bone-weary from the constant hit-and-run nightmares that stretched from dusk until dawn. Rising to face the day almost seemed a reprieve, and he met it by traveling in search of a more forgiving location. His stomach felt shriveled and angry as it growled and ached in a manner that suggested it was threatening to devour itself as a last resort. By midday he dropped to his knees panting. He was famished, dehydration was setting in, and he was beyond fatigued. He was _too far_ from anything of use.

He stilled on his knees before the sun of Jotunheim’s spring and tilted his face into its rays as they showered over him.

A distant crackle-boom urged his eyes to open. He turned his sights to the horizon and noted the murky sky miles away. A distant lightshow illuminated the ominous clouds.

It was a storm. At this distance its muffled anger could lull a child to sleep but Loki was not fooled. It was a vicious conglomeration of elemental force, and one he didn’t fancy being anywhere near in his condition.

He looked at the snow surrounding him and extended both hands to collect a tiny mound of the fresh flakes. Lifting it to his mouth he took a small bite and let it melt before swallowing. Never had a drink of water tasted so pure and desired.

A second rumbling echoed in Loki’s ears, and had he dedicated enough attention he would have discovered it was not the rumbling of the storm approaching.

It wasn’t until the ground shook beneath him and a gruff breath was exhaled that he realized he was not alone. He froze and listened, as though his stillness would save him. His hands lowered and let the snow fall to join its family.

Behind him was someone who wouldn’t be pleased to see him, but he stood and faced what would ultimately be his demise: a Frost Giant.

A breathy laugh extended toward him, “The son of Odin.”

Loki lifted his head proudly, “Hold your tongue. I am the son of Laufey and will not be addressed as anything less.”

Another chuckle, this one stronger, erupted from the giant, “So you are. A traitor to both your families, so I here.”

“Have you evidence of these treacheries?”

“Evidence? I have the chatter of gossip that comes across the realms.”

“If you have no evidence, your claims are unfounded. I will not tolerate such accusations.”

“Oh?” The giant knelt on one knee and leaned forward until Loki had to crane his neck to meet his eyes.

“Find something of interest?” Loki held his ground.

“It would seem the son of _Laufey_ is looking pale. Pale and… perhaps in a compromising state of being? Where is your magic, Prince? Where is your armor? And what of those illusionary tricks you’ve grown known for?”

The giant reached well over Loki and grabbed the base of a tree in one massive hand. The wood creaked and splintered before it snapped with a loud _crack_. Platters of bark fluttered to the ground around Loki and he shielded his eyes against the debris.

“Yes, it seems I find you in a state of disrepair. What brings you to Jotunheim? Did you think you’d find refuge here? Did you think you’d find allies after your betrayal?”

Loki looked into the giant’s deep set eyes. The red irises gleamed through ice, which lent a foggy glow to their presence. He had no tricks, no magic, and no strength. Those eyes may well be the last memory his mind lived to collect. He had nothing to defend himself, not even the strength he had by nature. Clint, a mortal man, had overpowered and slapped him like a doll. It hadn’t even been difficult for him.

Loki was mortal and staring death in the face. He was exhausted, pained, worn raw, and ready to be done with everything. And he knew it. He accepted it.

The tree was lifted high into the air.

“Nothing to say, son of Laufey?”

Loki closed his eyes and bowed his head. Silent.

“Hey, ugly!”

Loki’s ears pricked at the voice and he opened his eyes. An arrow bolted overhead, releasing an air-cutting screech, and lodged deep in the center of one of those red halos.

The giant roared, dropping the tree, and covered his injured face with both hands. Loki turned to sight Clint. It wasn’t difficult to find him; he was the only moving structure on the smooth dunes of snow.

“Get down! Get down! Get down!” Clint dove, tackling him to the ground. The snow gave a soft crunch beneath their combined weight. Loki wheezed when his breath was forced from his lungs, but he maintained clarity and reached up to curve his wide palm over the back of Clint’s neck and skull.

An explosion rippled, cutting off the giant’s wail of torment. A rain of hazardous ice-daggers pelted the ground and Clint curled tighter, more protectively, over Loki. The fingers pushed harder into the back of his neck to still him and he felt the clear definition of Loki’s thumb hard against his scalp as though bracing both of them for a sudden descent into the underworld.

The colossal body capsized, striking the ground as though making a statement and causing a reverberation that felt like the aftershock of an earthquake. The sky glittered from the sun playing off the ice, but both surviving parties were ignorant to the display.

They waited, still and quiet, until everything settled. If not for Clint’s breathing, Loki may have thought him speared to death.

In another moment, Clint lifted his head. Loki opened his eyes and met the surprised and questioning face of the human that had yet again saved his life.

“Something amiss, Agent Barton?” Loki searched his eyes as though waiting for Clint’s lost expression to sort itself and disappear. It didn’t.

“I just… you…” Clint didn’t have the words.

“I just-you- _what_?”

“You…” He reached up and gently pulled Loki’s hand from the back of his head to show rather than attempt explaining.

Loki looked at his hand and what it had been shielding. He looked at Clint. Then at his hand again. He averted his eyes and retreated behind the cover of an imperial façade.

Clint rolled off him, “Nevermind.”

Loki was staring at the large spear of ice plunged into the ground no more than two paces from where their heads had been.

“Hey,” Clint sat up and rubbed his bare arms to generate heat, “Sorry about the whole yelling and blaming thing. I was out of line. I was cold and hungry and irate and that was really juvenile of me. Though, that’s not really an excu…”

“Don’t.” Loki interrupted.

Clint closed his mouth. Loki’s eyes were still not on him.

He got it. Nodding, he climbed to his feet and surveyed their surroundings. A quick glance and he sighted the headless giant fallen over backwards, tree in a similar predicament, and spears of ice poking from the ground like they were decorating the spine of an ice porcupine. The dangerous ones had missed them, but Clint’s exposed arms boasted a few cuts here and there.

“Aw, no.” Clint trudged over to his bow where it rested beneath an ice spear. It was broken in half. He rubbed his face and gave himself five full seconds of mourning before he filed it away and focused on moving forward. He returned to Loki’s side and knelt to pull at the fabric of his cape and jacket. He revealed the injury to the cool air and noticed something glistening over the stitching. His brow knit and he inspected further. He touched it, gingerly, and found it tacky. He rubbed it between his fingers before meeting Loki’s eyes.

“Is this sap?”

Loki swallowed, looking stiff and sore and not inclined to move, “From a tree only found here, in Jotunheim. It is coveted for its properties that promote healing.”

Clint smiled a bit, “Well, look at you. Come on, Mr. Tall, dark, and smarty-pants – time to go.”

Loki tried his best to stifle a pained grunt as he was aided to his feet. One of his arms was guided to sling around Clint’s neck and shoulders for support.

Clint began walking with him, “If we keep moving we’ll stay warmer. And I’ll spoil you by making dinner again.”

Loki groaned, “Go to the market, darling. I’m getting tired of eating the same thing every night.”

Clint’s eyes crinkled at the edges, “You know what? I think you’re gonna be just fine.”

Loki’s steps faltered but Clint caught his extra weight. He stilled until footing was regained, but there was a sense of something Clint thought must be humiliation projecting from Loki. It was brief and cast aside in favor of determination. Clint said nothing about it. There was nothing to say.

A snap of light caught Clint’s attention and he scanned the horizon to take in the dark clouds bouncing flashes of lightening around like a game of tennis was occurring between two deities.

Clint stopped, “What the hell is that?”

Loki followed his gaze, “It’s a snowstorm. It will be here soon enough.”

“But you said _spring_.”

“I also said Jotunheim.”

Clint shook his head and continued walking, “Something tells me Jotunheim’s seasons don’t understand the concept of spring.”

 

 

Clint eased Loki down to sit on his quiver at his established campsite. In Loki’s eyes flashed a thin suggestion of realization that revealed he acknowledged this was where Clint had been before he traced back. It was buried a moment later.

Clint knelt beside him to dig in one of the pockets of his quiver, handing Loki his canteen as he did so. Loki’s hands accepted it, but he waited to drink. He was panting from their exercise, despite having Clint supporting a generous portion of his weight the entire time. He noted Clint’s arms and the way the muscles were flexed from exertion. Veins were protruding, telling him the activity had kept him warm, but he knew they would shrink when the oncoming chill constricted them.

Loki rubbed his brow and face as though nursing a headache, “You’re not even tired.”

“I’m also not injured like you are.” Clint pushed a square of chocolate into his hand.

Loki gave a short exhale through his nose as he rotated the square between his thumb and index finger. A smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes told Clint everything he needed to know about how Loki was feeling.

Loki sighed, “I’ve never experienced such intolerance to pain. I’m not accustomed to mortality.”

Clint stopped what he was doing, “Figured that out, huh?”

He nodded, “You didn’t seal my magic. You turned me mortal. You wouldn’t have been able to overpower me otherwise.”

“Technically _I_ didn’t turn you mortal. It wasn’t even my idea.”

“But you were involved.”

“Guilty by association, I guess.”

“It’s clever. Managing a spell of that caliber on someone like me takes a great deal of power. But wait until I’m most vulnerable and I imagine things shift in your favor.”

Clint didn’t look sorry, “Thor told us about the moon cycles on Earth and how it can affect your magic. The Solar Eclipse was the perfect opportunity. The hard part was finding you since we were pretty sure you wouldn’t be traipsing around during an event like that.”

Loki’s jaw seemed to tighten, “Was nearly shattering my ribs part of your plan as well?”

Clint held his palms up “That was completely on accident. You weren’t supposed to be severely harmed. Thor’s orders.” He was thankful Loki’s injuries had been incurred before he’d been turned mortal. Had he _not_ been his tougher-than-dirt self during the assault he wouldn’t have survived the beating from Hulk.

“Of course.” Loki bit into the chocolate and savored the sharpness in his jaw and the salivating it provoked.

A brawny gust ruffled the branches Clint had tethered across the alcove. They acted as a type of door, but it appeared he would need to reinforce them.

“We’ll need to improve this little haven of yours before too long. It’s going to get cold.”

Clint paused, “ _How_ cold?”

Loki met his gaze, his eyebrows rising high on his forehead, “For mortals? Unbearable.”

Clint did not like the sound of that. The temperature was freezing and Loki had flippantly said it was _going_ to get cold, as if it wasn’t already. Clint considered it a small miracle he hadn’t started acquiring frostnip at the very least.

They spent the next several hours preparing for the storm to hit. Or rather, Clint spent those hours preparing. Loki didn’t do much besides mope. Clint reasoned that it was due to his injuries. That made him more accepting of the lack of assistance.

When the storm did hit, Clint was awaiting becoming a human-shaped ice cube. The fire struggled and he continued to pile on kindling to spread it. They ate side-by-side huddled beneath Loki’s cape as wind whipped the entrance to their camp. Clint wasn’t confident the makeshift door would hold, but time and again it did.

Come morning, the storm subsided. Loki was difficult to wake and even harder to get moving. Clint had a tiny packet of instant coffee in his quiver. He made that, nice and warm over the dying fire, and gave it to Loki with another square of chocolate. Loki made an interesting face when he tasted the coffee.

“Don’t like it?”

Loki considered his words, “It smells better than it tastes, but it tastes as though I would acquire a liking to it over time.”

“That,” Clint scratched his head, “is actually the best description of coffee I think I’ve ever heard.”

Loki took another sip. When Clint had his quiver and belongings collected and packed he was handed the coffee. About half was left.

“Don’t want the rest?”

Loki tilted his head, intrigued, “I thought you might want some.”

Clint didn’t have a response. He drank the coffee, savoring it, and packed away the cup.

“You keep an impressive amount of odds and ends in that.” Loki nodded to his quiver.

“I’ve been stranded before. Decided I wanted a little help if it were to happen again. And surprise! It did.” Clint stood and pulled his quiver onto his back and held out a hand in offer, “Come on. We need to get moving.”

Loki took his hand and stood gracefully, “Where exactly do you imagine we’re going?”

“Somewhere better than here. There’s gotta be some kind of civilization around here. Even if it’s primitive.”

“That word is relative and I don’t care for it. Not the way you use it.”

“What?”

“Primitive.”

“Are… are you serious?”

“To me you humans are petty and primitive. What do you expect to find out here that meets your definition? You’re in a world of giants, and very few other creatures are sturdy enough to survive here.”

“Okay, okay,” Clint headed for the entrance, “then let’s just say I’m looking for something better than a cobbled-together shelter under some Grandmother Willows. A cave would even be better than what we’ve been working with.”

Loki sighed, annoyed. His brow knit when Clint picked something up that he hadn’t seen before. He recognized the form of a bow and several arrows.

“When did you make those?”

Clint slipped the arrows into his quiver, “This morning while you were in your little coma. You look all sweet and innocent when you’re sleeping, you know that?”

Loki looked away, “Charming.”

 

 

Routine fell into place, and traveling became less trying on both of their temperaments. Clint still pulled the lion’s share of weight. He did the hunting and the cooking. He also did the shelter locating and fire building. In fact, Loki didn’t do much of anything except follow him and mooch. Clint protected him from the cold by acting as a wind block. His arms hated him for it, and on those windy days they had to stop frequently for him to warm. He wasn’t looking for a case of frostbite, and Loki didn’t complain, as he tired easily.

When Loki had to take his hand to cross a frozen river, Clint made the mistake of opening his mouth once they reached the other side.

“You’re kinda helpless without magic, aren’t you?”

The dirty look he received and ensuing silent treatment let him know how much he angered Loki.

_Welp_ , Clint thought, _there goes the established trust from our bonding trip so far. At least he’ll be warm steaming like that._

They made camp and Loki peeled away his jacket, making a pained face and hissing. There was blood.

Clint knelt in front of him, “You should’ve told me. You were doing so well I wouldn’t have thought they’d tear now.”

Loki slapped his hands away, “Don’t touch me.”

“Hey, hey!” Clint snapped, “I’m trying to help you! _Jesus_.”

“I don’t want it. I’ll clean it myself.” His breath hitched from trying to push Clint away again, the damage worsening.

“Stop.” Clint grabbed both his wrists, “Stop moving. Stop fighting. You’re hurting yourself.”

“I wouldn’t if you weren’t so _helpful_ and would leave me be.”

“Listen, I know you’re mad about what I said earlier. I didn’t mean for it to be insulting.”

Loki’s face went from seething to incredulous, “Please explain how you meant for that to not be insulting? You called me worthless and stupid.”

“I didn’t say you were worthless, and I’m definitely not calling you stupid.”

“Then what insult are you choosing?”

Clint paused, looking concerned and apologetic, “I didn’t mean for that to be insulting, even though I guess it kinda is. I just… I get it.” He released Loki’s wrists and leaned forward to inspect the damage. He scooped a handful of snow and pressed it to the fresh tear. Loki flinched but otherwise didn’t move.

Clint cleaned the blood away and used part of Loki’s torn undershirt to apply pressure, “For a long time I came to rely on technology. I didn’t realize how dependant I was until I didn’t have it. It made me return to my roots. We just get dependent on things is what I’m saying. Me on technology. You on magic. That’s all. Sorry I made it sound like an insult when it was supposed to be a random observation and nothing more. I wasn’t making fun.”

Loki didn’t respond, but his anger diffused enough he allowed Clint to touch him freely and without fight.

“There. That’s better.” Clint looked around, “I didn’t see any of those trees where you get that sap.”

“We’ve traveled too far. You won’t find many in the direction we’ve been going.”

“Guess we should’ve taken some with, then. It’s okay. I’ve got something else.” Clint produced his tiny medical tin. He opened a tube of antibiotic cream and spread a little over all the stitching. He kept his touch gentle, knowing Loki was sensitive and in pain even though he tried to hide it.

“This should also help with the pain. It won’t get rid of it, but it will dull it.” He wasn’t thanked, but he didn’t expect his oh-so-pleasant patient to be handing out gratitude anytime soon. Building a fire and preparing dinner from the scrawny bunny-like creature he’d shot earlier kept him busy. The fire was soon roaring and melted what remained of their irritation from the day.

Loki sat hunched on Clint’s quiver, chin in his hand and elbow on his knee. He’d been staring almost exclusively into the fire, but now he turned his gaze to watch Clint work. Blackness from burnt wood was smearing Clint’s face in messy patterns. He cleaned his hands of the filth in the snow and Loki noted the darkening facial hair as it continued to grow in. It was still stubble, but in a few weeks the man would look downright scruffy.

Loki looked back at the fire and broke the long silence, “You said Thor had hope for me.”

Clint looked up; fire playing shadows across his face gave him intensity, “I did.”

“Is it true?”

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be? He’s your brother.”

“He is not.” His tone was even and calm, but dipped in desolation.

“Not by blood, but he still calls you his brother.”

“You said yourself he wasn’t.”

“Hey now, let’s just forget what I said about that. I was angry and unreasonable. I said things I shouldn’t have.”

“Did you really?”

“In attempt to prevent a mental breakdown about the fact I’m stranded in Jotunheim and freezing my nips off I may have taken some anger out on you. I tried to say I was sorry but you stopped me.”

“You shouldn’t apologize to the enemy.”

“Yeah, well…” Clint poked the fire, “Thor wants to see a day where you’re not the enemy. He wants his brother back.”

“I don’t want to go back. Things can never be the same as they were.”

“You’re right. They can’t.”

Loki’s eyes moved to him, as though surprised by his words.

Clint’s gaze never faltered, “But they can be better than this.”

 

 

Loki always slept on the side of the fire that was farthest from potential harm. Clint occupied the sides closest to the entrances of their little shelters, which he regretted the morning something grabbed him by a boot.

“HEY!” Clint yelled and thrashed around. He was being dragged, something gurgling and rumbling, and reached around and clawed for anything he could use as a weapon. His fingers closed around his temporary bow and he swung it to strike at whatever had him. It was a hairy beast the size of a large dog, but three times wider and a hell of a lot beefier. It released his boot, leaving burs from where its teeth had gnawed, and snarled at him.

“Jesus!” Clint scrambled backwards, facing the native monstrosity. Bands of spit flew toward him as the beast snarled and reared on _four_ hind legs. It raised a burly paw, outfitted with half a dozen claws, and Clint was scratching around for an arrow at the same time he braced for impact.

His hunting knife lodged in the ground between his ankles at the base of where the animal stood. Two pairs of purple eyes went to the side and its long fuzzy ears shifted from a pressed back aggression to a wilted hesitation.

“Be gone!” Loki stepped forward, making a wide motion with his arms as though to intimidate it.

Clint continued to scrabble for an arrow as the beast did what seemed like a testing snarl, as though waiting for them to roll over and surrender. Clint stopped moving when a furious yell sounded over him. He looked up to see Loki roaring at the creature, body pressed forward to project his vocals and arms back as though he needed to counter balance himself from the force of the bellowing. The veins in his face and neck protruded and his skin became a dusty red across his cheeks and forehead.

The beast seemed to recoil, dropping down to all six legs and pulling in on itself. A tail Clint hadn’t seen at first wrapped underneath its body as it uttered a submissive cry and backed out of their shelter. Loki made a dash for it, which made it snap its jaws defensively at the air and turn abruptly to flee.

Loki watched after the beast until it was out of sight. When he turned, Clint was looking at him as though shell-shocked.

Clint swallowed, “That was the most badass thing I’ve ever seen.”

“It was a little one.”

“Not that. _You_. You _screaming_ at it. The damn thing’s dick shrank three sizes between its legs and it pretty much pissed itself and ran away crying!”

Loki pulled the knife from the ground, “It’s a scavenger. They are easily intimidated when they think the odds are against them.”

Clint sat up and breathed a sigh, “It attacked me because it thought I was alone?”

“Yes. It probably thought you were injured as well since I was recently bleeding.”

“Oh,” Clint ran a hand roughly through his hair, “well, I think I’m just going to bunk with you from now on. Safety in numbers.”

 

 

Loki wasn’t opposed to the new sleeping arrangements. He sponged warmth from Clint like dry dirt gulped water, and it took a good hour some nights before they were warm enough under the cape to find sleep.

One of the colder mornings woke Clint to a new smell. He scrunched his nose to try and ease a tickle and then tried to lift a hand to scratch but couldn’t move his arm. He lifted his head, groggy, and looked to see what was causing the weight on his arm.

As it turned out, he was spooning Loki. The tickle had been dark hair in his face, and the weight was an arm wrapped over his to hold it higher and off the trail of stitches.

“Oh, god, I’ve gotta be dreaming.”

Loki’s lips curled into a smile but he didn’t open his eyes, “Hardly.”

“Oh, _god_ , you’re awake. This is embarrassing.”

“You wouldn’t stop fidgeting in your sleep. You continually bumped my side and it grew irritating so I resorted to stilling you myself.”

Clint let his head fall, nose in curls of hair again, and sighed.

“You’ve had many nightmares.” Loki shifted against his torso, “Do they plague you often, or is this a recent development?”

“It’s a development I don’t talk about.”

“I see.”

Clint tried to bite back his words but failed, “You don’t have to sound so smug and happy about it. That’s kinda rude, ya jerk.” His irritation lessened when Loki’s hand holding his forearm in place squeezed as though attempting to comfort him.

“I meant it as a random observation. I wasn’t making fun.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Clint threw the cape off and rose for the day. He shivered and threw large chunks of timber on the fire and prodded around to agitate the flames. Loki wrapped the cape tighter around himself to prevent the cold from assailing him.

Clint checked his snares. Both rewarded him with identical looking creatures. They weren’t very big and apparently not very smart, seeing as both had strangled themselves to death. He sat on the other side of the fire from Loki and went about skinning them.

Loki adjusted several times but seemed unable to find comfort. Clint watched him get up, cape wrapped around his shoulders, and walk around the fire and sit next to him. He said nothing; he only gave a quiet half-glance as Loki huddled close to his side until they were touching. If that wasn’t the icing on the cake, Loki then leaned against him.

They were silent as he finished skinning both animals. He reached down to start working with one of the skinless bodies but Loki placed a hand on his arm.

“Careful of their necks. They have poison sacs. If you pierce one I assure you it won’t be a pleasant experience if it touches your skin.” Loki pointed to a small bulge beneath cords of muscle, “There is one here, and the other here. Mm, I’ll show you a trick.”

Clint let his knife and the creature be taken from him. He followed closely as Loki made two slits and pressed the small fluid-filled sacs out.

“If you grab the neck of it here,” he pinched what looked like an artery connecting the pouch to the mouth, “and pull slowly you can remove it without error. Then you cut here.” He severed the tail of the artery and tossed the thing in the fire. It sizzled and snapped.

“Our eyes might burn a little from the fumes, but it will be minor.”

Clint turned his head and looked at Loki, “Where did you learn that?”

Loki shrugged, “Just something I picked up. I’ve traveled Jotunheim before.”

Clint smiled, “Pretty smart of you, smarty pants.”

Loki’s smile was half flattered and half wry, “Easily impressed, aren’t you?”

“I can be a simple guy sometimes, sure.”

Despite leaving himself open for insult, Loki didn’t take the window. He finished preparing the creature and handed the knife over and Clint started on the second.

They ate in silence but it was the easy kind. Loki was up and moving around more today, perhaps feeling better now that his wounds were less reddened with irritation. Clint was crouched and packing his quiver when Loki stopped in front of him.

“Barton.”

He looked up to see what was wanted, and fell completely still when Loki cupped his face. The hands were wet from melted snow, cold and a bit of a shock.

“Your face is filthy.” Loki rubbed the char from cooking off his cheeks, chin, and forehead.

Clint made a face and wriggled his nose but said nothing. Loki wiped him dry with a corner of his cape. It had been the first time Loki referred to him by name without sounding condescending since their arrival.

It didn’t happen again in the following weeks, and the farther into their trudging they slipped the more disheartened Clint grew. He was tired of being cold and missing all the comforts of home. Like hot showers and a soft bed. And coffee. God, he really missed coffee.

One particular morning Clint must have been eerily silent and robotic, because a hand on his shoulder stopped his packing. He turned to face Loki. Fingers touched his chin. After a moment’s pause they moved along his jaw, caressing his thickening facial hair. Loki’s eyes never left his. Silence stretched and Clint wanted to ask what he was doing but he felt less like talking than he ever remembered.

Loki said nothing; he ran his thumb beneath Clint’s eye and then brushed by him as though he had found whatever he was looking for. Clint didn’t care. He pulled his quiver onto his back and grabbed his bow.

 

 

It was blustery and wind chill was freezing Clint alive. He was rubbing his arms and wanted to make camp several times but Loki urged him to continue. They had been traveling hours longer than they usually did and Clint wasn’t sure why Loki was pressing on despite also being exhausted. He was ahead of Clint and nearly at the crest of a steep, snow-covered hill.

“Loki,” Clint called over the ever-strengthening wind, “it’s getting dark. We’re already going to have to build a fire in the dark and I’m two minutes away from becoming a human ice sculpture.”

Loki made it to the summit and turned to look at him. He said nothing and waited. Clint climbed, arms wrapped around himself, and pushed on until he was standing beside Loki.

“Jesus, it’s even colder up here.”

“There.” Loki’s arm extended in an elegant motion and Clint followed the gesture, “That’s where we’ll sleep.”

“Oh.” Clint saw the familiar shapes of buildings tucked away in the distance. They were blanketed in snow but they were laid out in a structured pattern that Mother Nature wasn’t responsible for. Clint didn’t question or complain. He followed Loki as they descended the hill and conquered the land separating them from what he hoped was a well-insulated shack. A storm must have been coming in, if the angry air whipping at them was an indicator.

As they drew closer, Clint realized the largest of the buildings was where Loki was headed. The door was placed on the side of the house where the least amount of snow seemed to gather. Whoever built it knew what they were doing. Loki pushed in the door with a little shoulder force that made Clint cringe and hope his still not-quite-healed side faired okay.

“Oh my god,” Clint stumbled in after Loki, “it’s nice to be out of the wind.”

“There’s a fireplace. Over there.” Loki made a gesture to a small nook and walked in a different direction.

Clint stepped over and saw a stockpile of wood. It was old and dry and would burn well. He tossed several large logs into the mouth of the fireplace and used his magnesium starter to generate sparks. His hands were stiff from the cold and hurt to move. Every time he struck the metal together and his knuckles connected it felt like his skin tore. It was minutes of cussing at the process and his inability before a flame caught and sustained itself. He dropped to his knees before the fire and let his arms dangle at his sides.

Loki’s presence manifested behind him and he draped something around him. It was a tanned animal hide. It was big and thick-furred.

“A blanket.” He was still panting and his throat felt scratchy from the cold, “Where was this thing weeks ago when I needed it?” He felt like falling over but settled for putting his aching head in his hands and biting off a miserable groan from the pressure. Something was dragged behind him but he didn’t look.

“Barton.”

The use of his name snapped him somewhat back and he verbally floundered.

“Hush.” Loki’s fingers gripped his shoulder and pulled.

“What’re you doing?” He almost tipped over, off balance from Loki’s guidance, and turned to see the pile of furs on the floor. Loki had made a bed of sorts. There were even pillows.

“Lie down. You’re about to collapse into the fire.”

“M’not.” Clint grumbled but climbed onto the layers of furs and allowed Loki to press him horizontal. He didn’t even put up a fight when Loki stripped him of his gear and peeled away his vest and pants. The fire increased to a loving blaze and Clint lay there, exhausted, and soaked in the heat.

“What’re you doing?” Clint felt incompetent and the room was a haze, “Loki?”

“Shhh,” Loki shushed him, “ _rest_.”

Clint fell silent and listened to the shuffling of clothing and blankets beside him. Another body pressed to his, warmer than him, and he groaned quietly in appreciation. His ice-cold fingers and toes warmed at an agonizingly slow pace, and once they no longer felt as fragile as thin glass the darkness of sleep closing around his mind like a spiral shutter enveloped him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews/constructive criticism/notes/comments/opinions/etc. are all appreciated. :) I strive to respond to all my comments.


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isolation does funny things to people. So does wine.

Part III

 

Clint woke to pressure on his side and the sound of fire hissing in pleasure to a firm stoking. His eyes focused and Loki’s arm tossing a small log onto the fire entered his view. For the first time since they crashed into three feet of snow upon their arrival, Clint felt warm all over. He wheezed when Loki pivoted on his sternum to return to his spot.

Loki looked at him, expressionless, “Can you coherently string two words together now?”

Clint’s brow creased, “What?”

“Halfway there.”

“You sound really condescending. What did I do?”

“You were on your feet and moving all day and still freezing to death.”

“You wouldn’t let me stop.”

“Had I you’d be dead. We never would have survived the frost overnight. Consider it good fortune we were within walking distance of this domicile.”

“Okay.” Clint rubbed his face and pulled the furs over his head, “I’m just going to roll with that. You still didn’t explain the condescending annoyance.”

“You kept speaking, but grew increasingly difficult to understand. Your words were incomprehensible to a degree of intolerable annoyance. I attempted to silence you, but it became clear the louder I yelled the less you heard me.”

Clint swallowed and considered this, “That must be why you didn’t answer any of my questions.”

Loki settled again and found a comfortable place cushioned against his pillow.

Clint tugged the fur from his face and looked at him, “That also why you kept shooshing me?”

A tug at Loki’s lips said he had found amusement in something Clint said, “You responded better to being gentled.”

He couldn’t argue. Natasha had voiced the same observation once. They fell into silence and Clint meditated to slow his heart to mimic sleep. He used this method to trick his body into sleeping when he wasn’t tired. It was invaluable when he only had allotted times to rest.

But right now he was using it to slow and quiet his body to listen for subtle sounds around him. He heard Loki’s near silent breathing, and picked up the even rhythm of his heart. There was a thin gust tracing the edges of the house like shrill whispers, and above it a familiar sound pricked his ears. He recognized it as the beating of feathers against the sky as a bird took flight.

Loki moved, rolling over so his back faced Clint, but scooted so he was still within inches of touching him.

Clint opened his eyes and turned his head to watch him. He saw the defining line of Loki’s exposed back and followed it until it disappeared beneath the shade of furs. His sight lifted and he noted how curly Loki’s hair became the longer it went uncared for.

He must have drifted off to those thoughts, because his next rousing was brought on by Loki getting up. His eyes fought against the light shining on his face, despite the snow coating the window diffusing much of it, and he had to squint to see if something was amiss.

Loki’s body, completely exposed, greeted him. Or at least the back of him, from hair to heels, did. Naked people didn’t bother or deter Clint, but he felt compelled to avert his eyes. Loki was tall and elegant, all pale skin and hairless from what he could see. He did look away, if only to prevent further appreciating a forbidden view.

But he soon looked up when the room darkened to a more tolerable lighting. Loki turned, looking at him after having draped a shroud over the window, and returned to their bed to take one of the blankets to wear about his shoulders.

Loki spoke, “I’m going to make something.”

Clint wanted to ask _with what_ , but he surrendered to the fact he didn’t have the energy to inquire. Instead, he let it go.

_Something_ turned out to be hot tea, and Loki was nudging him awake and waving a ceramic cup under his nose as motivation to rise.

“Okay, okay, I’m up – I’m up.” Clint accepted the offered drink. He looked around, noting Loki sat cross-legged and naked with the furs draped over his shoulders and lap, and surveyed the place now that it wasn’t pitch black.

Clint caught sight of something that interested him, “There’s a bathtub. Just sitting there, out in the open. Nobody needs privacy I guess.”

“A bonded couple was likely to reside here. Between lovers who have little, privacy often isn’t a concern.”

“Ah, makes sense.” Clint looked at the cup in his hands, “Where did you get stuff for this?”

“Dried leaves someone carefully preserved. They were on a shelf with other items. Most are beyond a time of wise consumption, but these will keep for years.”

He nodded, unable to think of a response, and they drank their breakfast as he continued to look at objects or items of furniture decorating the place.

“What’s that over there?” Clint pointed to a small wooden table and two chairs, “A game? Looks like Chess.”

“Yes. A game of strategy to overtake an opponent’s forces. You often sacrifice the little pieces to achieve supremacy. Much like war.”

“Yeah, that sounds like Chess.”

“I’m going to try the bath.” Loki set his cup aside when done and stood. The furs fell to the floor around his ankles and Clint pretended to be enamored by the tiny flakes floating in his tea.

Loki dumped a bucket of water he’d filled with snow earlier into the tub. The structure was crafted from metal and raised on supports. Beneath was a bed for burning wood. He swished the water around, cleansing dust and debris from the inside, and pulled the stopper on the bottom to drain it. Clint watched it pour all over the floor, which was sloped to a reservoir that looked removable.

Loki picked up two more buckets, these filled with partially melted snow, and dumped them into the tub. He used a stick from the fire, piling another log on while there, and used it to light the wood that was conveniently beneath the tub and arranged for ideal heat distribution. He gathered more snow from outside the door and proceeded to fill the tub half full.

It was quite a wait until the water was melted and warm, but Loki spent the time gathering more snow in buckets. Clint imagined it was for later.

Before Loki got into the tub he picked up wooden slats, which Clint hadn’t noticed until now, and set them in the bottom. It dawned on him they were supports to keep one’s skin off the metal bottom of the tub where the fire heated the metal directly. It was a large tub, though, and the sides had wooden guards to rest against. Unless someone tried to touch the metal it was a safe bet there wouldn’t be any accidental searing.

When Loki finally climbed in he looked like he’d stepped into bliss. He sank into the water and splashed it over his face and upper body. He shook his hair back after wetting it, and reclined against the wooden siding.

Clint sat and felt like he was compost. Loki bathed and soaked. He repeated this several times until he deemed it good enough for what he had to work with and rose to dry off using a woven blanket he’d found and shaken out. He draped it over a wooden rack to air dry and walked nude right to Clint.

“Your turn.” He stretched out on their bedding, completely exposed and not at all reserved in his blatant display, and seemed to bask in the sensation of being clean.

Clint was still wearing underwear, but it needed to be cleaned something fierce. He walked over and looked at the water. It was tinted from the dried blood of Loki’s side, which he had waited until last to thoroughly cleanse, so he drained it and began pouring in more snow to melt. That was when he noticed the entire inside bottom of the tub was lined with hardened clay. Clever.

When the water warmed he peeled off his underwear and went for it. Sitting in the tub was heaven, and washing away the grime from his traveling was one of the best feelings he knew. It was right up there with back scratches, someone running fingers through his hair, and sex.

He followed Loki’s example and did the bathe and soak method several times. When done he drained the bathwater and dried off as best he could before joining Loki on the bed of furs. He understood why Loki was lounging now, and he was fairly certain they both slipped into half sleep at some point.

 

 

Clint had taken it upon himself to wash their clothes. He was in the middle of the task when Loki came out of the only adjoining room wearing something that looked far too fancy for their simplistic living quarters. He stopped and gawked. Loki lifted his arm, admiring the gleaming material as it slid over his skin, and brought his wrist close to inspect the threading. He looked up, smiling at Clint, and disappeared into the bedroom. If that wasn’t a silent ‘come hither’ Clint needed to consider retaking his body language courses at SHIELD. He stood promptly and followed, wet up to his elbows from the bathwater, and stepped into the new room in his birthday suit.

Loki picked something off a large bed, a bed that was pressed against a wall and raised on a platform, and turned to him.

“What? Getting tired of looking at me naked? I’m insulted.”

Loki rolled his eyes while he draped the thicker robe around Clint’s shoulders. He was wearing a woman’s robe, crafted from silk, but it reached almost to his knees and was plain instead of embellished. It worked on him, and Clint was glad for that because he quite liked the heavier material of the robe now being tied around his waist.

Loki turned to a wooden chest on the floor and began pulling out clothing. Some were adorned with buttons while others were obviously made to be used in conjunction with a belt.

They went through the clothing together. Some of it wouldn’t fit Loki, as he was too tall, but when they came across a long gown Clint held it in front of him.

“Actually this doesn’t look too bad for you. You should try it on.”

“That’s the dress the woman was wed in.” Loki took it from him and folded it neatly, “Unless granted permission, it is considered ill luck to wear the dress worn on another’s wedding day.”

Clint was amused by the fact Loki didn’t seem to mind the suggestion was about a woman’s garment as much as he seemed to mind the luck thing. Then again, he wasn’t sure gender mattered to Loki much at all.

The good that came out of the find was garments with sleeves, and thick clothes that were made to endure the cold.

Clint put the clothes to use that same day. He ventured out to hunt, and found he traveled farther, hunted longer, and brought back a bigger kill now that he wasn’t suffering every second he was standing in the wind.

When he entered the little house he found Loki had gathered thick branches from the surrounding area. He was stripping the bark off and collecting long yellow needles that Clint likened to pine needles except they were _huge_ and _fat_.

He set the kill he’d already cleaned on the large wooden cutting block, “What’s all that?”

“Food.”

He stepped over, “What on there is edible?”

“These.” Loki handed him a particularly obese yellow needle, “You may have this one.”

Clint looked at needles on the counter. They were open and hollow. Loki must have eaten some already.

“Oh! They’re like peanuts.” He cracked it open and examined the contents, not noticing the amusement on Loki’s face. Strands stretched from one side to the other like the flesh of fruit. He sniffed it, tugged some strings loose and examined the texture, and then took a bite.

The consistency reminded him of an orange, if they were stretched out, but the taste was more vegetal. Maybe this was Jotunheim’s answer to the tomato.

“Okay, that’s pretty good. But what’s with the bark?”

“I’m preparing the limbs for draining.”

“You lost me.”

“Hand me that bowl, and your knife.”

Clint did as asked and settled into observation mode. Loki lifted a stripped branch and held it vertical in the bowl. He pressed the tip of the knife into the base and withdrew. A vibrant yellow-orange liquid began leaking like a tiny faucet.

“What the… what?” Clint had never seen a tree do that.

“This is the life force of the tree, much like blood that runs through our veins. Break the branch in the correct locations and you can prevent it from spilling until you’re ready.” Loki dipped his fingers into the gathered liquid and licked his skin clean. He made a considering sound as though it was passable and lifted the bowl in offer.

Clint accepted it and took a sip, “Tastes like inside-y parts of those needle things except in liquid form. Also kinda sweeter, like it’s condensed.”

“Mmhm.” Loki was back to working, but he pushed another bowl at Clint. It was filled with the flesh of the needles.

“Wow you’ve done a bunch of those.”

“You can cook them along with anything you brought back. They’re quite good over a fire.”

 

 

Loki played housewife. He seemed to know where everything was kept without having to look, and had laid claim to the kitchen. He also had priority on the bath, which he used in the morning and at night. Clint used it at night since he was up and gone in the morning to hunt and gather. Loki slept in and completely nude while Clint was up with the sun and always wore at least some underwear to bed.

They had moved from the pile of furs in the living area to the bed in the only walled off room. It had a secondary fireplace, which Clint put to heavy use. He had found an axe of sorts buried in the snow by the front door, and he spent the last hours of sunlight chopping wood for the fires. He’d also started building a reserve of wood in case a storm hit.

After a week of playing house, he raised the suggestion they should stock up and head out.

Loki crossed his arms over his chest, “No.”

Clint did a double take, “What do you mean no?”

“You said you were looking for civilization.”

“Yeah, yeah, you know - the kind with life and things. This place is abandoned.”

“I doubt you’ll find anything you’re looking for before the end of summer. If you can find anything at all.”

“So that’s it? You plan to stay here and live out your mortal life? You’re not going to look for someone who can help us?”

Loki sighed, “Given enough time and gathered resources I can restore my previous state. My natural state.”

Clint balked, “ _What_? Why didn’t you say something _days_ ago?”

Loki turned, briskly, and walked away.

Clint mentally sighed and rolled his eyes at his running mouth and dashed in front of Loki to stop him, “Okay, sorry. Sorry. Let’s try this again.”

Loki’s arms refolded across his chest and he fell into that posture Clint hated. It was superior-and-stubborn mode.

“What do you need to make that happen?”

“I have a list I’ve already compiled, but such a process will take time.”

“How much time?”

“Months to years.”

“Oh my god.” Clint resisted repeatedly thumping his forehead against the nearest wall, “Are you sure you don’t want to look for people?”

One eyebrow rose, “I know Jotunheim well enough to know we’re too far from anything else, and even if we did stumble across other life I can almost guarantee you it won’t be friendly. Another aspect to consider is the direction you’ve been traveling. The farther North you progress the colder it will be.”

Clint’s eyes fell to the floor. He focused and tried to process his options. There had to be another way. Maybe Tony and Bruce would figure something out. They had to know he was teleported with Loki. Would they have any idea where to start looking for him?

“Shit. Fuck. Dammit.” Clint sat down on one of two chairs the place was furnished with and buried his face in his hands. He rubbed his temples and wracked his brain but came to his senses. He looked up.

Loki was waiting and clearly unimpressed.

“Say I help you get your powers back. What then? You become god-like again, kill me, and then blip off to wherever the hell you like? You’re home free and I’m a sizzling pile of ashes in the snow.”

Loki’s arms unfolded and he set his hands on Clint’s shoulders. To Clint’s surprise, he knelt between his knees and made himself eye level.

“I mean,” Clint looked like a kicked puppy, “that’s kinda your MO, isn’t it?”

“Barton,” Loki squeezed his shoulders, “help me do this and I will return you to your home unharmed. You have my word.”

Clint’s eyes lowered, “Yeah, I’m not so sure your word is worth much these days, given your title and reputation.”

Another squeeze, “You don’t have much of a choice.”

“You got me there.”

Loki stood, “I do, don’t I?” There was smugness coating his words, but Clint felt no rise to it. Anger didn’t help their interactions. Instead, he maintained calm.

“What do you need me to do?”

 

 

Loki had drawn pictures of plants he needed. They were very detailed and clearly labeled. Even a color chart was scrawled in notes with lines denoting the area it referred to. He recalled seeing some of them around, but others wouldn’t be ‘in season’ for several months according to the booklet. He was also hunting bigger game for teeth, claws, bones, and certain organs. It served a double purpose; he harvested the needed resources and as a bonus it kept them well fed.

In addition, he was rock hunting. Not just any rocks. They had to be a certain shape and size. He often brought hundreds in a day, only to have Loki choose one or two. Sometimes none were passable.

If nothing else, he had quite the collection amassing in the yard. He was building an outdoor oven with them. Loki questioned him about it one day and he passed it off as needing a hobby between his day jobs and sleeping.

Loki spent his time drying and preserving the items Clint brought him, and carving symbols into rocks. That was a long and slow process. He could spend up to a week carving one symbol with how meticulous and focused he was. Clint always stayed silent during this process. Sometimes he slept, and other occasions he worked outside.

Clint helped him, but he didn’t for a second assume he’d be alive if Loki’s plan worked. His mind spent hours showering over options. How could he save his skin? What could he do to make himself valuable?

For a mortal to obtain ongoing value to a god seemed a ludicrous goal, and Clint wasn’t sure if it was that idea driving him mad or the fact Loki was the only other intelligent life he had for communication. And Loki was often quiet unless prompted for input.

Or if he was angry. Or conniving. Or condescending. Or snotty.

There was a plethora of words to describe him. Point was, Clint was growing lonely and it was infuriating to see Loki unbothered by isolation. Weeks tacked one on top of the next, evolving into months, and Loki showed no signs of agitation from their predicament.

Clint didn’t have enough to do, and the lack of privacy was starting to bug him. Since his company wasn’t very receptive to socialization it grated that much more. Loki was around near constantly, while Clint was out and about in the winter not-so-wonderland.

It was becoming more and more of a challenge to hide his morning erections. He remained in bed longer until they subsided, but the tension continued to coil tighter like a cup filled to capacity and straining not to overflow.

He focused his energy into drafting _survive-Loki’s-wrath_ plans, but all of them seemed hopeless. His only idea that he felt would remotely have a chance required him to ignore any attitude from Loki and be as nice as possible.

He’d been working on that niceness over the last pair of months and was implementing it in a slow-slow fashion. He had to be subtle and careful, because if Loki grew suspicious his game was over.

Their last major argument was three months ago. Since then, Clint had avoided stepping directly on Loki’s toes. He’d also grown a beard, which wasn’t his style but he didn’t have a razor.

Loki ignored him more and more as time went on. He was buried in his carving and drawing and plant preserving. There looked to be some kind of pattern to his drawings, like a pentagram or something, but Clint knew that was way over his head so didn’t worry about it.

The morning he woke Loki with tea may have been too much, because Loki rolled over and took a sip and spoke without bothering to even look at him.

“You can stop your attempts to gain my favor.”

Clint looked up from his own tea, “Huh?”

“What you’ve been doing for weeks now. You’ve been cleaning up after me, making me things I normally make myself, and you’ve completely stopped confronting me on any and all issues. It’s like you’re mindless. I told you I’d return you to your home. You don’t need to don this ridiculous mask.”

“That’s… it’s,” Clint drew a breath and sighed, “It’s not a mask. It’s just kindness.” He said it and believed it. He felt his brow crease momentarily as an epiphany rose to the front of his thought cloud; he wasn’t being nice just to gain Loki’s favor. He was doing it because that’s _who he was_.

“It’s kindness given because you want something of me. You’re restless, worried, afraid, and miserable because you’re focusing on what-ifs. You’ve created a problematic situation for yourself.”

Clint centered his thoughts and feelings and decided to unleash his honest opinion, “I think part of the problem is you, Loki. You can’t accept people being kind to you. Even if it’s done just because someone is a decent person you think they’re out to get you or they want something. I’m here to tell you that’s poisonous. Not everybody expects something for their work or acts of generosity. That’s exactly what generosity is – it’s giving without expecting in return. It’s doing because you want to make the world a better place. To make it lighter not darker.”

“Even if I tell you your efforts aren’t appreciated, that you can work yourself into the ground and it wouldn’t change a thing, you won’t stop?”

“That’s right.”

“You’re a fool.”

“You’re ignorant to my logic.”

“It isn’t logic. It’s stupidity.”

“No. I’m going to drown you in kindness because I don’t think you’ve ever been given enough where and when it mattered. And hey, say your plan works and you get your magic back only to betray and kill me. Guess what? I won’t regret being nice to you.”

Loki rolled over, hair falling around his shoulders, and looked at Clint, “Why not?”

Clint rotated his tea in his hands but his eyes never left Loki’s. He held his gaze, as though issuing a plea and empathizing.

Loki sat up, “ _Well_?”

“Because I know you’re hurting, and when people pour salt in the wound it only makes it worse. I became what I am because I wanted to be a healing agent, not an irritant.”

Loki’s expression turned toxic but Clint wasn’t cowed, “I don’t need _healing_ , you _mutt_! Your efforts are in vain!”

“Maybe.” Clint looked to his tea, “Maybe I’ll just die by your hand and all that kindness will just be water off a duck’s back. Or maybe not. The trend is to be intolerant and mean to you and I’ve never really been one to follow those. Trends, I mean. I’ve always walked my own path, even if no one agreed with me. That’s why it’s my decision, regardless of the outcome, to treat you as I would a comrade in this situation.

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes and that’s no secret. Wouldn’t be a surprise if this turns out to be one of them. But if I make the bed I gotta be ready to lay in it.”

Loki breathed, broke away, and stayed silent. Clint hated that silence, and coupled with a cold shoulder made it worse. He thought that was the end of the conversing for the day, but Loki moved. He rolled onto his back and looked at Clint. His face was passive and those eyes were observing him in a warmer light.

“Perhaps you have more character than I initially gave you credit for.” He rolled again, closer to Clint, and raised himself onto forearms and elbows. He played with the furs on the bed, and kicked one leg up, bent at the knee, and sailed it casually back and forth through the air. He looked at Clint, all innocence dipped in a veneer of mischievousness.

“You’ve been depressed,” Loki said it as a statement, “and your moping is irritating. You would like me to entertain you, I assume.”

 “I, er, what?” Clint’s brain erupted in a hundred different ideas, most of which weren’t chaste.

Loki took Clint’s tea and drank it slow and steady before handing the empty cup back, “What would you like to discuss? I can teach you many things most mortals will go their entire lives never knowing. I also have stories from my travels. I could tell you about Asgard.”

_Oh_ , Clint realized Loki meant he would talk to him not… he was stopping that train of thought.

Loki’s teeth showed as his mouth arced into a knowing smirk, “Or you could tell me about your childhood.”

“Asgard. Asgard’s fine.”

“I imagined as much.”

Clint mentally heaved a sigh of relief. He hoped he’d diffused Loki’s anger and suspicion, and he felt a bit more positive now that they were spending time doing something besides hitting a routine grind.

A few small stories turned into an entire morning and partial afternoon of them. Loki told some of his stories without emotion, but the more he told and the more questions Clint asked the more he seemed to thaw. The stories became happier, and Loki even caught himself speaking fondly of Thor and friends on several occasions.

“You mean Thor, big and bulky god of thunder Thor, was wearing a _dress_?”

Loki’s smile was infectious, “With two gourds for breasts and his hair in a braid complimented with the most delicate of flowers and petals.”

“Did it work?”

“They were fooled into thinking he was a bride. It was near flawless, but Thor broke character earlier than I would have preferred. Regardless, he won’t soon have the memory flushed from his mind. He is reminded of it by a variety of sources.”

“I’d like to use that on him someday.”

Loki’s smile slipped away, as though he caught himself enjoying the memory, “I’m going to bathe.” He was up and off the bed in the next instant and Clint didn’t bother preventing himself from staring this time. When Loki was out of the room the break in his line of sight snapped him to reality.

“Wait, Loki, I was going to show you something I found.” He sprang off the bed, grabbing their robes as he did so, and hurried after.

 

 

Loki held his thin robe about his body. He was standing outside, beginning to freeze, and scrutinizing Clint’s afterthought of grabbing his knife before venturing off. Untied boots did little to keep his feet warm, and he was starting to grow truly impatient when Clint finally came over and offered a hand.

“This way.”

He accepted assistance and braved the knobby ground. He was led around several outcroppings of stone located behind the house. The landforms had acted as a barrier, keeping wind off the structure.

He looked up as Clint helped him pass between openings in the face of the formation. Very little snow clung to the walls stretching three times his height and the dappling of white was dwindling the deeper they traveled. Clint released his hand, trusting he would follow and knowing curiosity was ignited. The path wove in several curves but was wide enough they could walk beside one another comfortably. He noted the air was becoming warmer.

The pathway opened into the mouth of a cave. He inhaled the heat rising and saw what Clint had been so excited about. They were standing in a cove of hot springs.

Clint nudged him, “I think I know why that couple chose this place to build their house.”

Loki stepped out of his boots where he was and took four paces to the edge of the rock. He tested the air just above the water before dipping his foot in.

It was perfect.

He let his robe fall and descended the step-like rocks that had been added long before their arrival. Knowing Clint’s eyes were on him, he stopped when the water was midway up his thighs. He looked over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow.

“Do you intend to join or are you planning to stare all day?”

Clint jumped into action, “Join. Definitely going to join.”

It wasn’t long before Loki’s face was flushed an eye-catching pink. It was the first time Clint had seen his cheeks dust that color from something other than anger. Their skin against the heated rocks of the spring was a treat they wouldn’t soon take for granted, and even when it felt borderline scalding they didn’t pull away.

Loki tipped his face skyward and gave a prolonged, pleasured moan that did nothing if not garner Clint’s attention. He’d only heard people moan like that during sex, but he was finding his thoughts on the hot spring were on par with Loki’s.

“Am I that unusual looking?” Loki lowered his head to look at Clint.

“What?”

“You’ve been staring. Are my physical qualities bizarre? I thought myself similar enough to you humans as to go unnoticed, but if some aspect is horribly flawed in my appearance and you wish to discuss it let us be done with it.”

Clint’s mouth worked but nothing came out.

Loki’s eyebrows rose, unimpressed, “Attractive.”

“Hey, just give me a second. You took me by surprise. You should know you’re not flawed. I mean, Jesus, look at you.”

Loki’s eyebrows fell to knit tightly, “Excuse me?”

“You’re fucking gorgeous.”

The eyebrows smoothed of tension and an expression of subtle disbelief lingered. It was a moment of Loki gauging him, as though attempting to find the lie or sarcasm as if it was there but well hidden. He hesitated a bit longer, wondering if he’d glossed over a subtlety of human nature by accident. But it wasn’t a lie, and Clint intended no harassment. This reality filtered through in the ensuing moments.

The barest tug turned the ends of Loki’s lips upward. The smile soon reached his eyes and he looked away as though flattered, but when he looked back it was with power.

“You’ve been staring for an entirely different reason then.”

“Whoops.” Clint averted his eyes to things that were not-Loki.

Loki laughed, “Oh, you _are_ the interesting one. How many write you off as another foot soldier of no consequence?”

“I hardly think finding someone attractive is fodder for conversation.”

“But it is, Barton.” Loki glided to him and placed his palms flat to the spring’s wall to cage him, “Out of all your comrades you may be the only one capable of finding something like me desirable.”

“Whoa there - I said you were pretty. I didn’t say anything about desire or ables.”

Loki leaned closer, his voice a steady, deconstructive thread that unwove the situation and rewove it into trouble, “And yet your eyes are anywhere but on me.”

Clint looked him square in the eyes but instead of strength and determination he knew he was the picture of frozen panic and inability to decide on an escape route.

Loki’s head lowered as he chuckled, unable to maintain composure, “Forgive me. My mistake.”

“Not cool.”

“Don’t feel obligated to feelings of shame. If you feel that way I see no reason to hide it. I like hearing it.”

“You’re a power-mad god, of course you like it.”

“Tsk, I can play that game, too. You’re a mortal with an inferiority complex.”

Clint looked insulted, “How do you figure that, pray tell?”

Loki half-shrugged, “Why else would you train until you acquire skill so acute it earns you world recognition as the greatest marksman?”

“Maybe I needed a hobby.”

“You sledge your boots into battle beside men who are giants compared to you. You are nothing but a man with a trick; other than that there is nothing remarkable about you.”

“Thanks. Thanks for that. I feel great. Real pick-me-up there.”

Loki eased back to give him space, “At least not in the physical sense. But your mind is unlike any I’ve seen.”

Clint swallowed, “Yeah. Okay.” He didn’t like the shiver that crept through him at the memories of Loki’s mind control. He imagined Loki knew all about what his mind looked like. Probably had a nice Polaroid-like idea. A hand touched his shoulder.

“And that which you are thinking, Agent Barton, is not what I meant.”

Clint looked up at him, knowing his unease and concern was decrypted and all over his face.

Loki tugged on his beard, “I thank you for the compliments, but I’m afraid I cannot truthfully return them. You look quite unkempt and it has been a constant and unwelcome distraction.”

Clint was about to retort, but he saw the smile that told Loki was teasing. A hand reached past him and returned with his hunting knife. He allowed Loki to wash it in the water of the spring and then put the blade to his neck, just below his jaw and ear. His heartbeat never rose.

“You have steady nerves.” Loki tipped the blade and dragged it over Clint’s skin with precision and skill. It scratched away a patch of hair, leaving a smooth trail. He dipped the blade and returned for another swipe. Clint closed his eyes and held still. He meditated as Loki handled his knife expertly. Never once was he nicked or cut, and despite the lack of shaving cream he felt no irritation.

When done, Loki rubbed water over Clint’s face, “You look like a different man.”

“You’re really good with that.” Clint opened his eyes, but instead of an unreadable face Loki looked like his science fair project had failed. He seemed confused, as though he didn’t understand the reasoning behind something.

“Why did you let me do that?” Loki rubbed his wrist across his own forehead, as though exhausted.

Clint didn’t have to ask to know he meant the blade at his throat, “Because I knew you wouldn’t hurt me. Not here, and not like this.”

Loki bent, looking pained. He drew a few breaths and felt a lack of oxygen. His confusion seemed to compound.

“Hey,” Clint lifted his arms as though to hold him, “hey, you alright?”

Loki swallowed and closed his eyes. He swayed. He mumbled something, stabilized himself using Clint, and opened his eyes. Blackness closed in and he felt the panic of wavering balance seize him in the last moments of consciousness.

Clint stood and slipped his arms under Loki’s to support him. The body went lax against him, knife slipping into the pool, and he crouched to heft him bridal style into his arms and out of the water.

“Yup. Too hot for too long. Should’ve warned you about that.” He carried Loki out of the spring, awkwardly wrapped him in the thicker robe, and carried him to the house.

“JeSUS! It’s fucking cold!” The short jaunt from the spring to the house was less enjoyable when wet and barefoot.

He pushed the door open with his foot then did likewise to swing it closed. The fire that was always crackling had the room at a pleasant temperature, but the bedroom was even cozier. The bed was where he placed Loki and set him up all nice and comfortable with a pillow.

Within a few minutes Loki came to, groaning in a weak fashion. He rolled a bit, the robe coming loose and falling open. Clint sat on the bed, naked but deciding to hell with modesty at this point.

Loki’s eyes opened to half mast, “What happened?”

“You fainted. Happens when you stay in water that hot for too long.”

Loki sat up and noted the thicker robe beneath him, “That’s never happened before.”

“Welcome to mortality.” Clint moved to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled out a white pair of pants. He pulled them on and wrapped the sash around his waist deftly. Loki had taught him the correct way after his initial botching of the craft and now he did it automatically.

“I found something else earlier, too. Thought I’d save this one for after the hot springs, though.” From beneath the bed he produced a large ceramic container sealed with a cork and tightly bound animal hide.

From the light in Loki’s eyes he knew immediately what he was seeing, “Wine.”

“Please tell me this is something you indulge in.”

“You should already be pouring that.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Unbinding the hide and removing the cork was the start to a relaxing evening. They drank from the same goblet, passing it back and forth often, and Clint didn’t think to spot Loki until it was too late.

“You are so drunk right now.”

Loki settled as flat as he could on the bed and emitted a hum of agreement.

“I’m going to blame the fact you’re a lightweight on the mortal thing.”

Loki was warm and unburdened. His body felt detached from his mind, as though floating, and he was lost in a mental haze.

“Look at you. You’re so tanked. It’s adorable.” Clint brushed the tips of his fingers against Loki’s bare side, which made him curl in defense. He persisted, and Loki gave in to a smile and laugh as he swatted at him.

“Barton!” The bark was half irritation and half laughter.

Clint ceased his assault and took a long swallow of wine, “I’ve got a ways to go before I’m even buzzing. I’ll do a little catching up, if that’s okay.” He reclined into the pillows and wall and drank casually.

Loki rolled onto his side, facing Clint, but his eyes were closed and he looked peaceful. Clint felt easier just looking at him, but his line of sight was tugged lower to the distracting scarring. The burst-like marring carried reminders of the sloppy emergency stitching, but such detail was overshadowed by the sheer size of the blemish. He reached out and touched the markings to feel the unique textures. It had taken many weeks for the wound to heal over, and lacking proper medical care hadn’t helped the appearance any.

Loki’s hand wrapped over his, palm covering the back of his knuckles. He stopped and looked up but Loki’s eyes were still closed. The gesture of lowering his hand wasn’t angry or rude; it was self conscious, and a stab of regret rose in him. He wondered if Loki sensed his silent apology, because in the next moment those fingers around his squeezed and rubbed as though to reassure.

Clint continued drinking in silence as Loki’s drunken fog cleared enough to grant him some clarity. He watched the way Clint drank. Minutes passed before Clint glanced at him. A lopsided smile flashed onto his features, eyes a bit glossy, and he sunk until he was propped only by a forearm to be closer to Loki’s level.

“Now who’s staring?”

Loki bit his lower lip and skimmed his fingers across Clint’s jaw, “Mm. You’re far more handsome without the beard.”

“You think I’m handsome?”

“You are now. And dressed like that. You are pleasing in white.”

“You look good in everything,” Clint’s eyes swept over Loki’s naked body, “and nothing.”

Loki smiled slow and entertained, “Are you flirting with me?”

“It’s a curse I was born with. When I ingest too much alcohol I can’t stop my mouth once it gets going.”

“A curse.” Loki scooted close until their noses nearly touched, “I might be able to help with that.” His fingers traced over Clint’s lips as though to study this supposed curse. His features collected into concentration and their intimate proximity mixed their breath. The thick scent of wine was all over Loki and it fit in all the right ways.

Clint’s heavily lidded eyes darted across Loki’s face to calculate what was unfolding before him. The fingers on his skin tantalized everything from his senses to his imagination, and without considering the consequences the tip of his tongue darted out to swipe the fingertips. The fingers recoiled instinctively, held in a moment of hesitation, but returned to rest unimposing against his chin.

“Mm, I see. This appears to be quite a burden. I may be able to help alleviate some of the symptoms.” Loki pushed his nose up until his lips ghosted across Clint’s cheek, “And if I can’t I’m certain I can at least keep it busy until the effects subside.” He nuzzled and inhaled.

Clint turned and pressed his mouth to Loki’s and underwent a satisfying burn when their lips weren’t even sealed before Loki began responding. The participation let him know he had read all the signs correctly, and such knowledge led him into a fearless dive.

Loki’s taste was ten times as intoxicating as the wine. It brought Clint deeper into the clutches of alcohol and desire. He cupped the side of Loki’s face and tilted his head to sharpen his angle. His tongue licked and his teeth nibbled in a dance of permission. Loki moaned in submission to the request and opened his mouth when Clint’s tongue beckoned again.

The slickness of a tongue along Clint’s own was a sensation he hadn’t felt in years. It was a pleasure just to lock lips with someone who was thoroughly experienced in this form of kissing.

They both inhaled as their pressure turned harsh for several prolonged moments. Clint pulled Loki’s mouth firm to his own, holding him with an adamant hand, but scrunched his fingers in that mess of dark hair as a gentling effect.

Loki breathed openmouthed upon their parting. He seemed at ease with how displaced he felt, and already his hands were creeping across Clint’s chest in search of more attention.

Clint didn’t waste time with words as he rose to his knees over Loki. He kissed the hollow of Loki’s throat as he rolled him onto his back and placed himself between legs that parted to accommodate him. He cupped the underside of a thigh and let it hike over his hip as it pleased and caressed the length of it. The position freed him to pepper an exposed neckline in hot, wet kisses that he took his time placing.

Shifting and fidgeting, Loki scratched from Clint’s scalp to his shoulders. His body undulated. He wanted more, because the touch-and-go teasing Clint was performing wasn’t near enough to sate an urge buried unwillingly for too long.

The erratic beat of Clint’s heart mirrored Loki’s. His fingers delved along the insides of hairless legs to close around a pulse-pounding erection. The little hiss and sigh Loki loosed was proof enough Clint wasn’t the only one who had foregone gratification since their arrival. Fingers dug into his shoulder blades and he worked Loki slow to avoid ending things too soon.

Loki’s moan was as much an expression of frustration as it was bliss. Clint latched onto his neck and sucked until a dark mark appeared. He nipped his small work of temporary art, liking the jolt it caused, and then bit it gently. His hand worked with increasing wetness as Loki’s erection continued to weep, but he maintained his torturous pace. His eyes fluttered when Loki’s hands found the front of his pants and pressed in a hard rub against his confined arousal.

The efforts to return the attentions were sloppy, and Loki abandoned them. He reclined, emitting a frustrated groan.

Clint smiled knowing Loki wasn’t looking. It was clear where most of Loki’s blood was going, and it robbed him of any multi-tasking ability he may have had under normal circumstances. He didn’t mind, and when he lifted one of those long legs onto his shoulder it seemed to spark interest in the form of anticipation. Loki’s eyes crept open and looked at him, as though waiting to see if what he wanted was about to happen.

Clint leaned forward, bending him in half, and pressed the pad of his thumb to the warmth of a puckered entrance. He took an immense amount of pleasure from the way Loki’s eyes fluttered closed and how his body tensed and quivered. This method was effective, and Clint stroked him with one hand while using his other to work a finger deep inside. Loki was restless, legs rubbing against Clint’s sides in a constant battle between finding traction and attempting to be still and enjoy.

“One enough?” Clint’s voice sounded thick.

Loki nearly cried, “ _No_.” His back arched off the bed and his fingers scratched in search of purchase.

“Oh, wow. Look at you.” Clint kissed above a navel as he pressed two fingers inside. Loki froze, letting the pair enter him, and breathed through his slackened mouth. His legs began to tremble as his erection throbbed in the firm grip of a calloused hand. His pleasure spiked to teeter on a dangerous edge and he wanted to take the plunge but it seemed far too soon. He swore and scratched, bending his legs tight around Clint.

Clint nosed into the dark curls of hair between Loki’s legs, smothering a smile as best he could before lifting to have a better look at the wreck he’d created. He pushed his fingers deeper but stopped when Loki gave a sharp exhale. It was a warning that told Clint how close he was. Not fearing any consequences, he delivered a quick thrust with his fingers.

Loki’s head snapped back, spine bowing powerfully to curve off the bed, and one of his hands gripped Clint’s shoulder until his nails punctured skin. His mouth flowed over with sound as freely as a fresh wound bled. His shout morphed into something that couldn’t decide between moaning or crying and instead traversed a line between them.

Clint’s eyes were frozen in fascination as he watched the convulsion of muscles paint Loki’s chest with the results of orgasm. The strands nearly touched his chin and splashed along his throat and collar almost artistically.

Clint had _never_ seen a man orgasm like that, and it made his own need burn with greater intensity.

Loki’s body locked up from aftershocks several times to stutter the unwinding of his spine. He relaxed, moaning quietly, and let his hand fall from Clint’s shoulder. The same hand went to his long hair, gripping and relaxing, and scratched through the mess in search of a handle.

“Jesus, you needed one.” Clint couldn’t help but chuckle. He leaned over him and withdrew his fingers. Loki touched his arm and his eyes opened to study him. The long-fingered hand moved from the bump of his bicep to his hair and face. He was petted and then pulled in for a languid kiss.

Loki’s nose bumped his as they parted and his hand dragged down, down, down until his fingers undid the white sash in one deft motion. Clint was removed from the pants and handled. His eyes closed and he pressed his forehead to Loki’s shoulder.

The scratch of Loki’s nails in his hair made him thrust into the other giving hand. The reaction garnered a pleased hum from Loki, who decided he liked the idea. He pushed at Clint’s shoulder to obtain space and eye contact. There was a moment of careful consideration where he gathered the sight of a human before him and committed it to memory. He had never seen a man like this.

“Take me.”

Clint eyed him, “You sure?”

Loki extended a beckoning arm. He wrapped Clint close and endured a second round of fingers penetrating him. It was a precaution, and he told himself to remember the consideration a human was providing that so many other beings he’d bedded hadn’t. The result of his orgasm was recycled and eased the process.

When he was breached it was slow and careful. A groan slithered from him as they fit together; the presence was a sensation of fullness. Despite his experience the act still created a foreign feel. He was warm and limber from his orgasm, but willing and even eager to offer himself as a means of release. He felt safe and comforted by the arms around him and wished for it to last.

Clint’s teeth grit as he fully seated himself. A hand returned to the base of his skull and alternated between nails scratching and fingers pressing into the bands of muscle. He was never chided or rushed. Loki let him progress at his own pace, and Clint eased into a safe, slow rhythm. The thin string subduing his orgasm was already fraying, and he forced himself to a stop to prevent an embarrassing finish.

When he regained some composure he started again. All of him was coiled tight as he rocked Loki into the bed. Loki scratched from his neck to shoulders and crisscrossed over his shoulder blades. It riled him, and the tenseness of his jaw made his teeth creak in a desperate plea for relief. His pace increased and Loki’s scratching was abandoned in favor of clutching him close. The breathy sigh in his ear was hot and wet and it sent a shiver down his spine.

Clint bared his teeth as a feral energy whirled through him, but he put a clamp on the beast. The drizzle of sweat down his back awakened him to the realization of how hard he was pounding Loki into the bed. A complaint never rose, but encouragement surfaced.

Loki’s fingers were grouped and pressed hard to the nape of Clint’s neck. It was his anchor, and he pulled Clint’s face to his own to hear the elevated breathing. A hand braced against his hip, holding him in place to reduce the rocking, and the hitch of motion told him this intimacy was soon to end.

Loki bit Clint in the neck and dragged his nails hard down the center of his back. Welts rose from shoulders to the top of Clint’s backside and his hips staggered and a small grunt escaped him as his orgasm hit.

It was strong, and he was aware he was rail stiff in Loki’s arms as he spilled. His body pulsed as the last of his seed was ushered from him in waves that gradually weakened. He shivered and melted to hide his face against Loki’s shoulder where he was gentled. His lightheadedness ebbed at the same rate as his panting. Fingers stroked through his now-scruffy hair until he found enough wits about himself to withdraw and move to the side.

Loki seemed content to pet and stroke his hair and face in silence, and Clint let himself be lulled by the skilled hands.


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint finds himself ironing a few things out with Loki. Also bonding.

Part IV

 

Clint didn’t so much wake up as he did drift into consciousness over the course of an hour or more. His thoughts were somewhere between denying it was morning and trying to pull the shade of dreamland back over his mind. For the first time in ages he wanted the dreams, because they _were dreams_. Not nightmares.

His sleep had been peaceful and heavy. When he finally pulled himself together enough to prop himself on his elbows his hair was mussed beyond all reason. He could feel it standing at odd angles and representing how long it had been since his last haircut. He was groggy and gave a small cough to find his voice.

Beside him, Loki stirred. He watched him stretch and roll over. Those sharp eyes crept open and focused. They moved to him and within a few seconds the memories returned. Loki’s brow furrowed and he sat up. They were both naked and in need of a bath.

Clint looked tired and awake at the same time as he regarded Loki without expression, “So… that’s a thing that happened.”

Loki’s eyes departed his and he appeared to already be at terms with their actions, “Yes. It most certainly is.”

“Remember much of it?”

Loki was staring at nothing, “All of it.”

Clint nodded, “Glad I’m not alone, then. Guess I can write that on my bucket list and scratch it off so it doesn’t look like I fucked up again.” He uttered an apology, an awkward apology, and turned to leave the bed.

Loki reached over and grabbed him by the shoulder and wrenched back to pin him flat to the bed. He hovered like a circling raptor waiting for the first sign of vulnerability to strike.

“Jesus, Loki!” Clint’s eyes were wide, “Seriously, I’m sorry. I’m really, really sor…”

“ _Stop_ it.”

Clint swallowed, looking like a deer in headlights. Loki’s eyes alone convinced Clint he was volatile. The sharp sneer of his lips and bared teeth were bonus intimidation.

“Your mouth purges apology after apology and they do nothing but make me sick.” Loki pressed at Clint’s shoulder for emphasis, “You consider yourself a man who creates his own path, but you don’t see the stigmas you cower under. You think sex with someone like me makes you impure and vulnerable? Makes you compromised? Why? Because you think so? Or because the society you belong to thinks so? You worry about being shamed and shunned, but whose business is your sex life? Theirs? I assure you mine isn’t.”

“Loki…”

“I’m not done.” Deep in his eyes was an offended man reacting out of anger, “Detach yourself from these societal restraints and realize how we’ve been living for _months_. We eat together, we live together, we support each other, but your weak-winded apologies tell me that sex is where you draw the line? You can save my life, use my knowledge for survival, but you can’t _fuck_ me?”

“You’re not mad about the sex?”

Loki looked at him as though he were stupid, “Mad? I’d bed you again in an instant, Barton. In fact, I intend to so long as we’re of matching interests. Think you can rise above your fear of what your friends might think?”

Clint took a moment to process everything.

 

 

Sex turned into the perfect way to pass time. It also had a mellowing effect on Loki. He was less aggressive, irritable, or manipulative, and in post orgasm he bordered on affectionate. Clean shaven must have been some form of turn on for him, because Clint couldn’t recall a partner who touched his face as much. Perhaps facial hair reminded Loki of Thor, or others that didn’t make his list of favorite people.

Whatever the reason, Clint didn’t mind shaving every few days if it meant Loki would keep kissing him with such fervor. Their tumbles became an escape, and the sessions of touch and taste continued to simmer sometimes hours after orgasm. Loki was malleable and receptive when flooded with dopamine and Clint liked the conversing that almost always followed.

They talked about anything. Sometimes it was about Clint’s item gathering, and other times the conversations were silly and had no real worth other than entertainment.

Clint woke on an overcast day and immediately appreciated the casual return to coherency over the usual irritating blast of sunlight on his face. He rolled onto his back and observed the rise and fall of Loki’s chest. He was awake but clearly trying to doze. Clint didn’t bother him and followed his example and tried to nab a few extra minutes of peace.

When Loki did move, he turned over to face Clint, “I suggest you stay indoors today."

“Bad weather?”

Loki closed his eyes and inclined his head.

“Alright. Anything I can do around here to help?”

“I’m certain I can make use of you.”

“Sounds good.” Clint drifted in and out for several minutes. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but when he rose from his fog Loki was still there curled on his side resting but not sleeping.

“Loki?”

“Mm?”

“How old are you?”

It was one of those questions that didn’t garner an immediate response. The tug between Loki’s eyebrows, drawing them tense for a moment, expressed his curiosity as to why Clint was asking. Loki never opened his eyes, and instead shifted and sighed.

“Why do you care to know?” He sounded so serious, as though the topic may have been the slightest bit insulting.

“I guess that’s not really the question I should be asking. I was just wondering how much sexual experience you have. Something like that doesn’t necessarily correlate to age, I know, but they say you’re a god and that made me wonder how many times you’ve been around the block.”

“Significantly more than you.”

The curt answer made Clint turn his head to look at him, “Am I that bad?”

This time Loki’s eyes did open and he regarded Clint passively, “That isn’t what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“Merely that I would be considered ancient by a mortal’s standards. When I say significantly I harbor no alternate meanings other than the basest, which is exactly that I have lived longer and therefore been granted more opportunities to engage in sexual acts.”

“…ah.” Clint felt a little empty.

Loki’s lips twitched upward at the corners, “You worry about your performance.”

“A little.” He answered too fast.

Loki touched Clint’s chest and played the pads of his fingers over his skin, “You should harbor no concerns. I’ve had many partners, but few of them have been as attentive and giving as you.”

Clint let that sink in, and he floundered a bit before asking, “Really? I mean… I just… _really_?”

Loki’s smile was a combination of amusement at Clint’s expense and fondness, “You find this difficult to believe?”

“Yeah, kinda.”

“I’m afraid most of my partners were more interested in self gratification.”

Clint’s brow furrowed, “That’s pathetic.”

Loki chuckled and curled against him, “I’m glad you think so.”

Clint wrapped him up in his arms, close and secure, and they fell into mutual silence. A moment of reflection seized his thoughts, nagging him for this side of himself that was allowing Loki so close, but he forced it away. There was nothing for him to do or discuss regarding their history and rocky first impression. Not right now, unless he desired to create rifts when they both needed each other to survive. And Loki had said as much, which meant they were in agreement on that front. Clint knew it was pointless to create barriers now.

So he held Loki and rubbed his back and stroked his hair. The physical connection and socializing may have been a greater benefit to him and he worried he was being clingy, but Loki wasn’t showing signs of fatigue from the closeness.

If anything, Loki seemed tame now, as though he’d previously been feral and was now domesticated. Clint tried to recall their last argument, deciding he wouldn’t count the scolding after the first time they had sex, and failed to remember which incident in memory was more recent.

Loki stirred sometime later in his arms and Clint could tell by the hum-sigh and leg sliding against his own where his morning was headed. Gentle brushing and rubbing turned to fondling and hot kisses. Clint rose over Loki, rolling him onto his back as they kissed, and together they indulged in another shameless give-and-take of pleasure.

 

 

Clint stayed indoors for two days until what he assumed was a cold front passed. He’d been assisting Loki with his work and learning how to properly preserve the plant and animal parts he’d collected. He took over cooking, cleaning, and tea brewing for those two days. It freed Loki to do more carving.

That seemed to be the most important aspect of the to-be-performed ‘ritual’, and Clint wasn’t surprised when Loki didn’t teach him any of it. By the end of the second day, Clint was sweeping the floor and looking over Loki’s shoulder to see his progress.

“Hey, you’re bleeding.” Clint abandoned the broom and set a hand on Loki’s shoulder to pull him from his work trance.

“It is not of import.”

“Yeah, it kinda is. Here.” Clint pulled out the second chair and sat as he took Loki’s left hand that was beyond blistered. Loki allowed him to proceed, but he didn’t turn to face him. Instead, he continued to work with his other hand.

Clint used cooled tea and leaves from earlier and patted areas worn raw. Loki never showed signs of pain, and Clint wrapped his hand promptly using strips of thinned animal hide he dipped in more tea.

“There. That’s one.”

Loki took his hand back and returned to his carving.

“Loki.”

Silence.

Clint sighed and moved his chair to Loki’s other side. When he took Loki’s hand this time, placing the carving utensil down for him, he was given a look of mild irritation.

“This will only take a minute.” He cleaned and wrapped Loki’s index finger and thumb. He used the thinnest of the hide to lessen the amount the material would impede motion.

“Okay. You’re done.” Clint let him return to work but stayed sitting to look at the collection of carved rocks. There must have been four dozen by now.

“Is this some kind of ancient method of magic?”

“In a way. You could say this was one birthplace of the magic used most prominently today. Very few are capable of this method and it takes time and dedication, as you know, and you should be impressed.”

Clint prevented a snort and instead slipped into a playful mood, “Okay, just let me bask in the impressiveness for a while. Here I go. Annnnnd I’m _basking_.”

Confused, Loki performed a side glance as though asking if he were mentally well.

“Oh, wow.” Clint stared at him overdramatically, “You are so impressive I might not be able to handle it. You gotta tone that down before I faint. I’ll help.” He lifted Loki clear off the chair and into his arms.

“Barton!” Loki near growled and demanded he be freed. Clint wrestled him onto a cleared counter and lifted his shirt to press his mouth against the contour of his abdomen. He blew hot air and the absurdity of the action and unusual noise cracked Loki’s grumpy demeanor.

“What are you _doing_?” Oh, there was the barest hint of a giggle in there and Clint planned to nurture it.

He lifted his head and kissed him, “You’ve been working non-stop. Your hands are proof of that. I think you can afford to take at least a break.”

“I was making excellent progress until you interrupted.”

“Yeah, I bet you were. But you need to learn how to take care of yourself.” He placed a kiss to the inside of Loki’s wrist, “Or let me help when I offer.”

“Hmph.”

“Don’t be like that. Please?” He rubbed his hands over tense hips and kissed an unresponsive mouth, “I said I was going to drown you in kindness and I meant it.” He started a trail of light, brushing kisses along the side of Loki’s neck. There was a slow shift as his ministrations caused goose bumps. Loki fidgeted and Clint worked his touches all over to soften the rigid defense.

Transitioning him from work to play mode took some doing, but Clint called it a victory when Loki began returning the kisses.

Loki was only putting in partial effort, but as his clothes peeled away and the contact became skin-on-skin his reservations depleted. He kissed with an ignited hunger from his vantage point and instead of irritation at being touched he now expressed frustration from not being touched enough. He panted between kisses and bites and uttered a sigh of loss as Clint ended their kiss to press him onto his elbows. It left Loki exposed, and a moment of vulnerability seized his thoughts. But the way Clint admired him caught fire to his lapse into fear and chased it into extinction. Growing in its place was impatience, which he expressed through facial communication and a not-so-subtle growl of Clint’s surname.

Clint soothed the fussing and kissed from Loki’s collar to inner thighs. He lifted one heavy-boned leg onto his shoulder and teased by skipping around the engorged flesh of a straining erection. The sensitivity of Loki’s inner thighs fell prey to Clint’s mouth. He gentled Loki into complete submission, and even as he slid his thumb along the inner cleft of an unfairly firm backside, absently brushing the ring of flexing muscle, there wasn’t a single sign of resistance, hesitation, or distrust.

Loki’s anticipation was riding high, and when Clint finally lowered his head to take him into his mouth his eyes slipped shut and he sighed. His neck bent, letting his head fall back, and he looked like he was sunbathing.

Clint was relentless in his giving and prolonged the act until Loki’s legs and body were trembling from exertion.

Loki hissed, burying a hand in Clint’s hair as he approached his limit. A finger entered him and he knew that was the start of the end. His orgasm hit him with enough force to press a moan past his lips. The string of pleasure overrode the complaints of his exhausted legs and arms and he sank, back flat to the table, to enjoy the aftereffects of release.

Clint supported both of Loki’s legs over his shoulders to allow him to fully relax. He traced his fingers from knees to hips in a lazy back and forth glide as he ran his tongue over his teeth and swallowed several times to refresh his mouth as best he could. Rendering Loki stationary but thoroughly limber made him pleased and maybe a bit proud. He waited until Loki sobered from his orgasm before he lowered the legs around him and bent to scoop him upright.

Loki moaned in a way that suggested he was complaining about being moved.

Clint carried him to their shared bed and knew they were calling it a day when a hand pulled him in for a kiss.

 

 

They went around day after day, working together near flawlessly now that arguing had seemingly gone out of style between them. Loki warned him about collecting food and kindling before the worst of winter set in.

Clint didn’t understand the level of seriousness, but when Loki explained there would rarely be any leaving the house, if any, once winter was in full swing the idea came across.

Apparently leaving the house for more than ten minutes meant an early death, and Clint didn’t care for that route. They’d essentially be hibernating, he realized, and that worried him. He’d go stir crazy and commit suicide unless he had something to keep him busy. Something _besides_ sex.

He tripled his efforts when hunting, because meat preservation was easy when your entire environment was a freezer. He chopped so much kindling he was convinced he was a professional now, and it kept him in shape as a bonus.

But he still worried about the stir-crazy thing. It led him to make an indoor archery range and stock up on supplies to build arrows and bows.

Loki had started growing small plants soon after their arrival at the house. The little sprouts Clint had seen after a week of nurturing were now messy tangles already producing fruit. The warmer environment had accelerated their growth, because normally such plants didn’t produce fruit until their second year. That’s what Loki had said, anyway.

“We only need one more plant ingredient.” Loki said it while carving one evening.

“The flower one I can’t find anywhere? You have it labeled that it’s purple and shimmers in sunlight.”

“Yes.”

“Is it rare?”

“In a way.”

Clint looked confused but made no prompt of inquiry. He knew Loki’s quirks well enough by now to know the pausing thing was one of his favorite games.

“It only blooms for a few days of the year, but when it does you will know. They are everywhere in this area.”

“And when does it bloom?”

“The first days of Spring. We most likely arrived here mere days after they stopped.”

“That’s shitty luck.”

“Mm.” Loki agreed.

 

 

Winter settled in the form of a vicious storm. The fires struggled to keep the environment warm and the way the wind battered the sides of the house made Clint fear the entire structure would collapse around them. He struggled to sleep until Loki touched his arm and turned him until they were huddled close.

“We will be fine. It is soon to pass.” Loki nosed against his face and sounded so certain and reassuring Clint couldn’t help but find comfort in the words. He drifted off and experienced a rare, dreamless sleep.

The storm dumped so much snow it acted as insulation. Clint had to clear the chimney to prevent buildup, because the last thing he needed was the threat of suffocation by smoke. He ended up being covered in soot by the time he was done. This seemed to amuse Loki, but he wasn’t complaining when it resulted in a bath that afterwards resulted in sex.

Mornings were lazy and spent lounging. Clint was becoming aware Loki almost always woke first. It became apparent when he continued to come around to different sensations. The most common was Loki running his finger over Clint’s back as though writing invisible notes.

Today was different. The pressure was not Loki’s finger but a quill. There was a dedication to the way it worked across his skin.

“Are you writing on me for real?”

“Mm.” Loki bent down and licked his shoulder as though it made his actions permissible, “You have beautiful skin. Like an olive canvas.”

“What are you writing?”

“Prose.”

“And cons?”

“Poetry.”

Clint exhaled, smiling against his pillow, “Sometimes I think you really don’t appreciate my humor.”

“I find it difficult to decipher if you’re attempting humor or merely ignorant.”

“That explains a lot. Where did you get the ink? I thought you were out.”

“I made some last night.”

Clint yawned and let him continue. When the work was apparently done he lifted his head to see Loki climbing out of bed.

“Remain where you are. I’ll return with tea and nourishment.”

“Kay.” Clint tried looking over his shoulder to spot some of the scrawling but what he could see looked like gibberish. He concluded it must have been a different language. He retired from the neck-cramping activity and decided to enjoy the warm bed they had spent months breaking in.

When Loki reappeared he set fruit and a mug on the side table and crawled in next to him. They were both naked and smelled faintly of sex from last night. The ink must have been dry, because in the next moment Loki was lying across him running his fingers over the lettering.

“What does it say?”

Loki smoothed his palm over his back, “It speaks of raptors.”

“Velociraptors? Sounds badass.”

Loki exhaled.

“I’m being cute. You’re talking about birds.”

“Of prey, yes.”

“You get inspired by something, maybe?”

“Perhaps.” Now Loki was being cute, and Clint could tell by his voice he was smiling.

He rolled over until they were face to face. Loki regarded him in a flirtatious manner and Clint swept that ever lengthening black mane behind his ears.

“You’re beautiful when you smile.” He grinned when Loki rolled his eyes, “You know you are, too.”

Loki slid his hand over the firm curve of Clint’s chest and drew them closer. He kissed along a defined collar, feeling affectionate, and darted his tongue out to wet a patch of skin before biting. He didn’t leave a mark, but when he eased off he licked the reddened welt as though sealing it. Clint scrunched Loki’s hair and was given a pushy kiss but wasn’t complaining. They were languid and absorbed in the act, but the connection satisfied their current desire and didn’t escalate to sex.

Clint’s chest felt swollen from fondness in a way he didn’t expect. Loki’s innocent play meant a lot to him, and he felt less and less isolated as their relationship of survival continued to evolve.

Loki splayed half on top of him and rose to a forearm for a vantage point. He traced the line of Clint’s jaw and over his bottom lip, still damp from their kissing, and seemed to lose himself in memorizing every detail of skin. Clint closed his eyes as fingers traversed across his brow and the bridge of his nose. A thumb smoothed his eyebrow and retired to rest against his temple. He fluttered his eyes open and looked into Loki’s disarming gaze.

He smiled, “What are you doing?”

Loki answered in complete seriousness, “Admiring you.”

That threw Clint and he had to prevent a chuckle before asking, “Why?”

“You spend quite a lot of time admiring me. Is it so odd when I do the same?”

“Not odd, but I’m not sure you’ll find much here to admire.”

Loki didn’t respond. Instead, he lowered his ear to Clint’s chest, directly over his heart, and listened. The beat was steady, unfaltering, and cast tranquility throughout Loki. It was a wonderful, hypnotic sound and captivated him for many minutes until Clint’s stomach growled and invoked a smile.

They shared the mug of tea and platter of fruits and then a bath. After some carving, Loki let himself be coerced into a friendly round of archery. He was no match, but he also wasn’t a pushover. After, they played the game Clint continued to call Chess despite Loki’s insistence it was unrelated. There wasn’t much else to do _but_ spend time together.

Clint had feared he’d become an irritant due to their confinement indoors, but Loki never shunned him. If anything, they talked more than ever. Loki shared more stories, seeming to have an endless supply, but Clint feared opening up. At the end of the day Loki was still Loki, God of Mischief, and Clint knew better.

In the living area in front of the larger fireplace, Loki finished telling yet another tale of his travels. For a time they enjoyed silence, but Loki revealed his mind was anything but quiet when he next spoke.

“You had a nightmare last night.”

It was the first time Loki had broached the subject since Clint was attacked by the six-legged snow-tiger-thing. He turned his head from his horizontal position and waited until Loki did likewise. Their eyes met but there was nothing to read on Loki’s face.

“I have them most nights.” Clint looked away and rolled upright to stare at the far wall.

“It was different this time.” Loki joined him in sitting, “You weren’t afraid. You were angry. Do you remember what it was about?”

Clint scoffed, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

“Will you tell me?”

“I told you I don’t talk about them.”

“Maybe you should.”

“What is this, therapy?”

“Barton, why don’t you talk about your nightmares?”

“Why would I? Talking about it just makes everything raw again. It’s like revisiting all the worst situations and places I’ve ever been. They rush to the front of my head and sometimes they’re so convincing it’s like I relived it. Then I have to push them away to stay sane.”

“So you bury those memories instead of confronting them? You drink poison and hold it inside to fester instead of letting the sickness pass.”

“I don’t think you’re one to talk.”

“I’m not the one haunted by memories.”

“No, just your family issues.”

“Unresolved. It’s a work-in-progress.”

Clint snorted that time, “Yeah, okay.”

Loki slid up to him and leaned against his shoulder, “Was it the one of the little dark-skinned girl being tortured?”

Clint jerked away, turning and looking at Loki wild-eyed, “How the _fuck_ do you know about that?”

Loki didn’t appear startled, but instead continued as though everything was going as he expected, “I know more about you than anyone else. Don’t you remember? I walked through your mind _and heart_.”

“Even that? Even those memories?” Clint’s heart pounded against his chest and he felt his skin break into a cold sweat. Every hair on his body prickled.

“You thought you could bury something so vivid where I wouldn’t find it? Your anger was and still is so fresh. Countless people would be furious to witness such acts against a child. The terror and pain in her screaming face would be enough to blind a mother.”

“Stop it.” Clint turned his head away from him.

“I’m not trying to wound you.”

“Then stop.” Clint drew a breath and held it. He tried to erase the memory, just as he tried every time he had the nightmare. Scenes from that night played through his mind and a dull roar of reoccurring noise from nightmare after nightmare rose to nearly deafen him. This is why he couldn’t think about it; he couldn’t handle it. Even his handlers at SHIELD knew not to step anywhere near that mission, but in strolled Loki to bring it up like he was discussing the weather.

Loki pressed against Clint and his arms wrapped under his to rest hands over tense shoulders. It was an embrace, and he held Clint’s shaking body. He kissed a shoulder blade and pressed his cheek to the same spot.

“Why do you resist tears?”

Clint breathed and blinked to clear his vision, “It’s just… not considered acceptable for a man. It’s considered weak.”

Loki gave a curt exhale to express his distaste, “It is an emotional reaction. Gender should make no difference.” He pulled Clint until his head rested in his lap. There, he carded his fingers through thickening hair and allowed him time to regain his composure. When the last of Clint’s subtle resistance to his touching drained, he felt it appropriate to speak.

“You have a deep, invisible wound.”

Clint said nothing. He swallowed and the clenching of his teeth flexed the muscles of his jaw.

“You should find comfort.”

He opened his eyes and looked up at him, “In what?”

“The knowledge that it wasn’t your fault. You feel such guilt when you shouldn’t.”

“I couldn’t save her.”

“Had you she would’ve lived the life of a cripple. Death was a merciful fate.”

Clint rocked his head in denial and squeezed his eyes shut, “I should’ve gotten there sooner.”

“But you didn’t, and she died horribly. But her pain is long over. She feels nothing anymore, and you should let this guilt rest. You tried when others did nothing. Take comfort in that, if nothing else.” He stroked Clint’s face, down his neck, and across the plane of his chest.

Clint inhaled and exhaled. One tear slid beyond his defense and he uttered an expletive. He hardened his resolve as Loki swept the droplet away. It was smothered into his skin as though it never existed.

“Why are you doing this?”

Loki’s voice was soft as velvet, “To be remade you first have to be unmade.”

 

 

Three nights later, Clint was shaken to consciousness and his first reaction was to search for immediate danger. When he saw none he looked at Loki and through his elevated breathing he asked what was wrong. Loki turned away and stood from the bed and left. His face had been unreadable, but something about his movement and the tension in the air expressed annoyance.

Clint leaned against his pillows and sighed as he rubbed his face. He knew what was wrong; he’d been having a nightmare violent enough he woke him.

When Loki reappeared he had tea. He set it on Clint’s bedside table and lifted one end of the blanket.

“Move.”

Confused and a little irritated at the demand, Clint scooted over and let Loki have his spot.

“No.” Loki touched his shoulder as he was halfway across the bed, “Stay on this side. With me.”

Clint looked up at him, eyes full of fear. He knew they were, because the last three days had been hell on him. He swallowed as Loki eased into the bed and adjusted the covers and pillows. He could smell the now-familiar aroma of the tea. It had a powerful fragrance and often took his anxiety down a few notches.

“I don’t want to do this.” He looked to the far corner of the bed and focused on a rumple in the sheets.

“You don’t want to what?”

“This. This thing you’ve been doing to me. Making me relive all the worst days of my professional career.”

“Isn’t there a mortal saying that speaks about pain and that it is a sign of proper functioning?”

Clint’s head fell as he gave a humorless laugh, “ _The pain means it’s working_.”

“Here.” Loki patted the place beside him, “If in a few more nights you see no improvement in your sleep I’ll stop, but for now lie beside me.”

It was a full minute or more before Clint gave in and curled against him. Loki’s long arms welcomed him and he was tucked so securely his ear to chest clearly detailed the steady heartbeat. The embrace was warm and firm without being overbearing, but Clint still felt silly until fingers started stroking through his hair. By now he knew this would proceed until his heart rate returned to normal. Then Loki would ask him questions about his nightmare and he’d venture into a recounting of the events that haunted him, including what led up to them and what came after. Today, he decided to speak first.

“You realize we haven’t had sex in days, right?”

“I’m not going to have sex with you until we’ve resolved your nightmares. I won’t have you subconsciously associating nightmares with sex.”

“Oh my god! We’re never having sex again!”

Perhaps the most surprising development of the night was Loki laughing out loud at his joke.

“Maybe I’m wrong.” Clint mumbled, “I thought getting you to laugh like that was impossible but here we are.”

Loki’s fingers scattered over his shoulders and back, “You should stop fighting me on this front. Give this method a chance.”

“It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Temporary discomfort is a pittance for the sake of quality sleep.”

“Why are you so eager to help me?”

Loki chuckled, “You are blind to how often you rouse me in the night because of your distress.”

Clint let that settle before he responded, “That bad?”

“It progressed to a point of my intolerance, and now we are here.” The hands began massaging, “You are calm. Begin.”

Clint sighed, defeated.

Two more nights passed and Clint was beginning to see dark circles under Loki’s eyes. Mid afternoon arrived and Loki slept at the workbench with a carving tool still in hand. When Clint approached he looked over the collection of carved stones. The pile had grown so large he wondered how many more were needed.

He carried Loki to bed and tucked him in. The movement woke him, but after an irritated face he rolled over and returned to sleep.

Clint really had been keeping him up. At first he suspected the possibility of a lie and plans of manipulation in the works, but it was difficult to hide the physical proof that was now so evident. He stood by the bed and ran his fingers through his hair and clutched his hands over the back of his head and drew a deep breath. There was exhaustion in his bones. He knew it, but it had been constant for so many years he had learned to live with it. He fought it, overcame it, but Loki had knocked him to his knees and forced him to confront it.

He stayed up until their normal time and made himself busy with carving shallow designs into a new bow he’d made. After he cleaned up he tended the fire to keep it strong and then stripped naked and climbed into bed beside Loki. He still found the arrangement odd, but seeing how peaceful and normal Loki was calmed him. It was a pity the plan was to return Loki to his natural state, because human Loki was significantly less troublesome and ten times more likeable.

 

 

Clint eased into an alert consciousness. His eyes opened and he found himself staring at the rafters and experiencing a kind of inner peace he thought only monks were lucky enough to obtain. He took a deep breath and sighed. He felt really good.

“It was perfect.”

Clint turned his head and saw Loki curled on his side with one arm outstretched. A hand was on Clint’s chest and the fingers to go with it were now rubbing absently.

“Huh?” He felt dumb.

“My night,” Loki clarified, “it was perfect. Wasn’t yours?”

“I, uh,” Clint blinked and thought about it, “yeah. Actually, yeah.”

“So far as I can tell your sleep was peaceful.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Clint rolled onto his side to face him, “You look better.”

“Did I look bad yesterday?”

“Just a little wilted. Probably from me waking you and then you staying awake to baby me.”

“Mm, I’ll forgive your past disturbances if you bring me breakfast.”

“I think I’ll take that offer.”

Breakfast was tea, fruit from their insanely productive garden, and smoked meat. He brought it to the bed and they ate and discussed Jotunheim’s seasons. Clint wanted to know how soon he could be out and about.

“You tire of me.”

“What? No! No, no, no. That’s not what I meant. Obviously I’m not tired of you. I mean, for shit’s sake, who gets tired of sex?”

Loki’s mouth curled into a smug smile.

“Wait. Did you just make a joke?” Clint was dumbstruck, “You just made a joke.” He was already laughing, shoulders shaking.

Loki was chuckling now.

“Oh my gaaawwwddd I can’t believe you made a _joke_!” Clint dove at and tackled him to the bed and found himself somewhere miles beyond giddy at the way Loki’s laughter intensified. That seemed surreal in and of itself.

“You are easily amused.”

“And you are _beautiful_ when you laugh like that.” Clint nipped his neck and it pleased him to see Loki’s smile was lingering.

“If there is one thing I can say of you for certain, it is that you are a trove of compliments.”

“Don’t like them?”

“On the contrary, I quite like them.”

“Of course you do.” Clint kissed him. The gesture was supposed to be brief, but Loki pulled him in for a connection that was heated. If Clint didn’t know better he would have attributed the passion behind that kiss using the word ‘loving’. When he pulled away Loki was looking at him like he was dessert.

“Does this mean we can go back to having sex?”

Loki’s answer was another kiss, humming in approval as he wrapped Clint in his arms.


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They near the first anniversary of their isolation in Jotunheim. Clint weathers Loki's shifting behaviors, but there's one development he won't tolerate. Communication comes first. Everything else follows.

Part V

 

Spring was late. That’s what Loki told him one morning over tea.

“What does that mean for the flowers? Do they skip a year if it gets too late?”

“No. They just wait until it warms. They bloom on the first significantly warmer day.”

“So I’ll know spring has sprung when all the land shimmers purple and blue?”

“In a sense. You’ll know sooner when you wake up and my toes aren’t cold against your skin.”

That made Clint smile. He’d never said a word about Loki’s cold toes on his legs, but it was amusing to know they both acknowledged it long before now.

Weeks stretched on and the cold didn’t let up. Clint was finding he minded less and less. He’d adjusted his view to be more positive by reminding himself the situation could have been hell. Loki could have continued to be snotty and arrogant and condescending. Instead, he had warmed up. The sex was good.

Actually, the sex was great. Clint had never had so much sex with one person before, and he’d done some things he didn’t think he’d like but the way Loki did them, with him, was perfect.

Other than the sex they’d come leagues in their cohabitation and ‘tolerance’ of each other. Clint didn’t like calling it tolerance, because that made it sound like a chore. Loki was genuinely entertaining when he wasn’t being a dick.

As time marched on, Clint found himself increasingly nagged by a question he’d buried since before their arrival. Sometimes he feared Loki was catching on, because the tension that built when he thought about it always drew those knowing, trickster eyes directly to him. That was a bit creepy, because it made him wonder if Loki was sensing his train of thought like some form of lesser mind reading. He usually abandoned his dwelling after feeling Loki’s attention on him, and now he saved those inner thought clouds for when he was out and about by himself. Vocalizing the question was not an option for the foreseeable future; he didn’t feel like burning bridges he was still crossing.

When spring finally arrived, Clint was shaken awake. Loki pointed him towards a window and he saw an unusual coloration to the snow glinting in the sun. He whipped his attention to Loki.

“It sprung?”

Loki shoved him out of bed, seeming less than amused by his wording, but at the same time there was a fondness to his pushiness.

They bundled in thick coats lined with fur before venturing out. The air was a shock on Clint’s skin. The landscape unfolded before him, looking more barren and unending than last autumn.

Scattered all over the land were blips of purple and blue. They sparkled, just as Loki had said, and Clint knelt to observe. The flowers were larger blossoms with five sections. The vines were thick and white, which is why he probably never noticed them growing anywhere until now.

“We only need the buds, but the vines are full of nutrients if you’d like a different flavor of tea for a new year.”

They picked an entire basket of the flowers and vines before calling it quits. Loki went right to preserving them while he told Clint how to make tea from the vines.

Their breakfast was more of an early lunch, but with a new tea it seemed worth the wait. After a light meal, Clint fueled his excitement of being outside for the first time in months into something else that was exciting. Loki didn’t object when he was reclined onto their bed and descended upon until he was too weak and over sensitized to stand confidently.

It took him an hour to work up the motivation to move, and when he did it was to walk with Clint to the hot spring they hadn’t been able to enjoy over winter.

In the following days, Clint watched Loki build an altar of some breed or another outside in a clearing. The stones were aligned at night, when the stars were out. Loki said he needed to view the night sky in order to ensure his placement was correct. It was a meticulous process, and after a week of nit picking and adjustments he finally stopped tweaking the placement of the stones. The preserved plant and animal parts were added next. The workbench looked empty now.

 

 

In the early morning, when it was still dark, Clint woke and found himself alone in bed. Not expecting to be alone and never hearing Loki get up gave him a miniature panic attack. The absence of Loki’s boots sent him to the front door and he opened it in a hurry.

His sigh of relief was silent. Loki was standing before his assembled altar with his chin propped in a hand. He looked pensive, but when Clint studied his face a little longer he knew he saw mild, barely-there distress. He disappeared inside and pulled on a jacket and boots. Loki’s skin was reddened from prolonged exposure to the cold, as his robe did very little to protect him.

The crunch of Clint’s boots didn’t garner Loki’s attention. It was the coat draping around his shoulders that ruptured his thoughts.

“You’re freezing out here, bud. What’s up?”

Loki seemed to sigh as he made a dismissive hand gesture.

“How close is it to being done?”

“It is done.”

Clint eyed the altar. It looked like hobbled together odds and ends in some form of order that was beyond him. He noticed now that all the carved lines in rocks were connected. They wove from one rock into the next to create an entire design. No wonder it had taken Loki so long. He returned his attention to Loki, who still portrayed underlying distress, and ventured verbally forward.

“Are you waiting for something else? Or are you nervous it won’t work?”

Clint almost thought him annoyed, the way those eyes crinkled shut, but in the next moment Loki touched his face in that fond and affectionate way he’d come to expect. Loki leaned into him and they embraced. Clint didn’t understand, and when Loki began kissing him he understood even less.

Loki’s enthusiasm grew. He cupped Clint’s face and kissed like he’d never have another chance. It became breathy and messy and it was all Clint could do to hold him off until they were naked in bed together.

Clint had welts down his back but didn’t rise to the same level of roughness. One side of him liked being used as a scratching post, and the added sensation spurred him to please. All he had to do was exhaust Loki through pleasure, and he intended to do it well.

When Loki’s orgasm arrived it hit him powerfully. His moans were swallowed in kisses. His body jerked as Clint rutted into him until his own release was met and they were able to enjoy mutual satisfaction.

Clint swept Loki’s damp hair aside, “What was that all about? Huh, Loki? What was all that?”

Loki was panting beneath him and turned his head away and closed his eyes. He didn’t produce an answer.

 

 

The elegant line of Loki’s spine was the first thing Clint saw upon waking. It curved delicately and looked free of all tension. He was awake, Clint could tell by the slight movement of his arm, and probably drawing invisible designs in the sheets.

Clint rolled onto his side and rose to a forearm to find he was correct, but something about Loki’s silence kept him distant. His body may have looked free of tension, but his mind gave the impression a storm was raging. It was more of what he’d seen in him last night, and it worried him.

Pressing his nose to the cool skin of Loki’s shoulder, Clint pressed their bodies flush. He kissed across Loki’s back, up to his neck, and wrapped an arm around him.

“You’ve been really quiet. Looks like your hopes and dreams were crushed or something. What’s going on?”

Loki’s eyes were unfocused, “The ritual.”

He waited out the pause.

“It requires a human sacrifice.”

Clint almost snorted, “That’s the most cliché thing I’ve ever heard. Funny.”

But Loki didn’t say anything. He remained serious.

A heavy leaf of reality settled over Clint and his world shrunk. He swallowed and pieced everything together. He didn’t withdraw, but instead tightened his arm around Loki until a hand folded over his wrist to secure him.

“That would be me then, huh?”

More silence. It said enough.

Clint kissed a bare shoulder and turned him onto his back. He pinned Loki’s hands to the mattress but the action was nonthreatening. Loki met his eyes but there was no spark of anything.

“If you can’t sacrifice me then what are your options?”

Loki looked away.

“Animal sacrifice won’t work?”

A slow shake of the head said no, “You use the word cliché to describe the concept of a human sacrifice, but you do not stop to consider where this idea was born. It is an ancient practice that bled into the roots of your ancestors’ culture. Such rituals were inferior attempts at magic, flawed and ill-practiced, and despite having no effect many lives were taken. As such, all those lives were wasted.”

“Okay,” Clint swallowed, “not so cliché. But you’re saying I’m your only option?”

“You won’t work as a sacrifice.”

Clint’s jaw tensed and he knew he’d just been fed a line of bullshit. Any anger he may have had at being lied to was minor and he vanquished it.

“Yeah, I would. But you can’t do it, and that’s the problem.”

Loki’s eyes closed and his head tilted up as his throat was kissed. Hands squeezed his wrists before leaving them and wet, sucking kisses were tracked across his collar. His legs were parted and he said nothing as Clint slipped between them. The contact of their naked bodies led to a slow-slow grinding.

Loki exhaled as he was pushed into the bed by the weight from above. The unhurried pace drove him to the brink of tolerance. His hands gripped Clint’s biceps, his spine a subtle arc, as their rutting continued. He needed something more, something primitive; something rough and unforgiving. He needed to feel pain.

“Shh, Loki. You’re _alright_.”

Loki gasped and jolted, eyes snapping open as damp trails seared his face. Clint covered him in a tight embrace and told him to breathe. But Loki struggled and his attempts at control crumbled in the form of choppy gasps.

“Calm down. You have to calm down. You’re hyperventilating, bud.”

Loki’s hand buried in his hair and he heard individual strands breaking under his iron grip. He needed to be hit. He needed to be beaten and yelled at. None of this was right. It was all foreign. He heard himself yell but it was a pathetic sound, a broken sound, and it only made Clint gentle him that much more.

He didn’t need to be gentled - he needed to experience the kind of pain and rage he hadn’t felt in months.

Clint tightened his hold around Loki’s trembling body. His mind raced, _I know we’re both pretty fucked up in the head, known that from the start, but here I am surprised he’s having a breakdown_. He held Loki through violent sobs and didn’t let go even when he was yelled at.

“You’re fine, Loki. You’re fine. Shh, just breathe.”

“ _Hit me_.”

“No.” Clint kept him pressed to the bed, “I’m not going to do that. I’m not going to hurt you.”

“ _You are hurting me_!” The yell burst with admittance, and Clint rose to look at him. Tears streamed from the corners of Loki’s eyes and he drew stuttering gulps of air, as though his own words blindsided him.

In that instant Clint understood his very plan of becoming valuable had been successful. He saw it in Loki’s face and eyes and the way he was shaking uncontrollably. It was painful to consider using him as a human sacrifice, but it was the unfamiliar way it hurt that Loki couldn’t handle. He longed for a pain he was accustomed to dealing with – a pain he _could_ deal with and burry under a superior façade. Now he was stripped and unprepared to face a pain that went beyond physical.

Clint knew he was looking at Loki with pity in his eyes. It was probably why Loki looked away, his face ashamed, angry, and despaired.

“I’m sorry,” Clint bent and kissed his face, “I’m so sorry.”

“You,” more tears rose and spilled, “you have to hit me.”

“Don’t. Shh. Don’t – _don’t_.” He took Loki’s scrabbling hands in his and intertwined their fingers, “Everything is gonna be fine.” He pressed him into the bed, kissing his neck. He gave in the slightest bit and sealed his mouth over the thick muscle that connected shoulder to neck. His teeth clamped with enough pressure to leave a mark, and Loki inhaled sharply like he’d received a breath of life.

If that’s what it took, Clint surrendered and took back one of his hands to rake his nails from Loki’s hip to his knee. It caused a shiver, and when he squeezed hard at the underside of a thigh he earned a moan. He continued his scratching and squeezing and created a path filled with little bites and nips that went from neck to hips.

Loki curled and uncurled beneath him, giving the impression of masochism as he rolled into Clint’s rougher attentions. The nipping generated hisses and moans as though it seared with pleasure but just wasn’t enough. Loki writhing beneath his attentions and body displaying a renewed erection had Clint working up to another of his own. He bit the tender inside of Loki’s thighs and licked over the reddened skin.

When he took him into his mouth the reactions of pleasure intensified. He worked slow and drew his work out until Loki was a shaking, sobbing mess beneath him. When enough was enough he ceased his lingering and turned his ministrations into a concentrated effort.

Loki came with an open-mouthed moan, hands in Clint’s hair, and spine imitating the curve of a bow.

 

 

Weeks had passed since the human sacrifice revelation. Clint spent time hunting and reflecting. The clean air allowed him the focus to scour over potential solutions to their problem, but without an understanding of magic he felt useless.

Clint wondered if Loki considered waiting to see if anyone wandered along and happened to be human. Clint almost laughed at the absurdity, but he was too downtrodden. He wasn’t the type to make human sacrifices unless it was his sacrifice to be made. He didn’t kill innocent people.

No. He was the only human on Jotunheim, and Loki had been unable to sacrifice him.

So he was alive, and they were both still stranded.

His next trick had been to ask Loki if he could do a teleportation spell instead. The fingers pressing into Loki’s eyes gave him his answer.

Somewhere around three days ago he’d exhausted his arsenal of questions. It was probably a good thing, because Loki was growing weary of the inquiries.  They’d been stuck in Jotunheim for over a year. A Jotunheim year. However long that was. Clint had no idea, but it seemed longer than an Earth year.

A week later, Loki was less depressed. Clint had dropped the magic subject completely and only now did he realize the constant pestering had been adding to Loki’s stress. He imagined the lack of usual communication and sex was his own fault.

He was stressed, too, but he understood he didn’t need to make it worse for either of them. That would do nothing but ensure arguments.

They were sitting in front of the larger fireplace, naked because who cared, and propped on a mound of pillows they’d amassed. They were eating dinner and sharing a goblet of wine because Clint decided tonight was a good night to unwind.

Their dinner was a modest spread of smoked meat and the yellow, needle-shaped fruit. Clint had made them in his outdoor rock oven. It went far better than he expected and the fruit was delicious.

Blankets of fur were draped over their legs and Clint was practicing restraint by not staring at Loki even though he looked stunning. He did look up from cracking open another needle when Loki touched his face. The smile he saw was fond, and he understood why in the next moment as a thumb rubbed against the corner of his mouth to wipe away juice. The thumb retracted and Loki sucked it clean.

Clint smiled and bowed his head. Something about that had been endearing yet silly. This was not a predicament he ever expected to be in, but he was trying to make the best of it. Loki adjusted well. Almost too well, because sleeping with the enemy didn’t seem like an issue to him on any level. Clint imagined it simply wasn’t an issue to a god.

They washed their meal down with the wine and set their single plate aside to rinse later. For now, Clint had more important matters. Loki was letting himself into Clint’s personal space and there were no complaints to be issued. His lap was straddled and arms wrapped around his neck.

They kissed and it felt natural. Clint rubbed back, sides, hips, and legs and utilized every technique he’d mastered over the last year. Loki licked his way into his mouth and swept away the lingering taste of dinner. The kisses ranged from deep and slow to quick and rough, but no matter the style the goal was to focus on the now and put aside stress.

Their foreplay wasn’t necessary, as they were more than ready after a dry spell spanning a couple weeks, but Clint liked taking it slow. He did it just to hear Loki pant and moan in frustration. It made it better for both of them, and there was no denying that.

He gave Loki whatever he wanted, and by the time they were sated everything else felt miles away.

 

 

Clint didn’t know what else could be done. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in Jotunheim. Or did he? It wasn’t so bad once accustomed. Not really. But it wasn’t the life for him.

He was a hero. He had an itch that hadn’t been scratched in over a year, and it was becoming harder to ignore it. He missed his friends and the thrill of fighting crime. He missed his archery range in Avengers Tower, and even longed for a super-angry scolding from Fury. He must have been going crazy.

“Something weighs on you.” Loki extended his arm from where it rested over Clint’s chest to wrap across his ribs and side. He nuzzled the shoulder he was using as a pillow.

“Is it that obvious?”

“I can feel it. You are tense.”

“I’m lying down, completely relaxed, how can I be tense?”

“There is tension that goes beyond physical. It hangs in the air like a fog, and you bathe in it.”

“Yeah, okay. Guilty as charged.”

“Speak.”

“Woof.” He felt Loki smile against his skin. At least now he got smiles instead of eye rolls or irritated sighs.

Loki full-body nudged him.

Clint sighed, “I dunno, Loki. I’m just… really homesick.” His gaze played across the ceiling and individual curves of wood grain in the rafters. He felt a little less pathetic when Loki squeezed him.

“As am I.”

But the tension was still there, and his real question remained unasked and unanswered.

 

 

Clint played over idea after idea that could potentially save both of them. He did it day after day but arrived at the same depressing results each time. The repetition did nothing but crush what little optimism he had left. He told himself to give up, because if there was a way out Loki probably would have thought of it already.

It had been months now since Loki told him of the sacrifice needed. They rarely discussed it and Clint was slipping further and further into despair.

His sleep was no longer plagued by nightmares constantly, but he instead suffered from worry and fear. He woke continually and it was a struggle to return to slumber. Loki could tell when he’d had fitful rest and would make him tea and tell him stories in a voice so soft and comforting he could swear those lips were laced with chloroform. The kindness Loki had shown him in recent months also worried him. Had Loki given up? Had he resigned himself to living the rest of his life as a mortal? Was he giving in to the fact Clint was his only company? Had this changed his view of him? Was he trying to make the best of a dismal situation?

All those mental streams caused him further concern and he woke more often. Loki’s attentiveness to his sleep dilemma rarely wavered. He was soothed to sleep and would wake sometime in the afternoon to find Loki sitting at his workbench staring at a wall. He didn’t need to ask what he was doing. He already knew. Loki was doing the same thing he’d been doing; wracking his brain for a solution.

Somewhat rested, Clint looked at his knife sitting by his outdoor gear. The superior craftsmanship had kept it sharp despite heavy use. He dressed and placed the knife in his boot where he always tucked it away when traveling.

The air outside was as crisp as ever but now that it was summer it thankfully lacked the heavy burn to his throat he’d experienced last autumn. He walked for a long time to clear and calm his mind. He needed to think his latest thoughts through and come to a decision. Then he needed to be at peace with whatever decision he made.

They couldn’t keep doing this. Winter was creeping closer every day, and Clint wanted more from life than shelter, food, and sex. He _couldn’t_ do this for the rest of his life. Stagnation would cause his brain to rot.

He wanted to discuss it with Loki when he returned that afternoon, but apparently other plans had been made in his absence. He stripped from his outdoor ensemble and tapped his boots off to dry. When he stood and turned, he nearly walked into Loki.

Mild surprise made his heart jump, but he said nothing. Eyes studied him without judgment. Instead the gaze was tinged with sadness and acceptance.

Hands began unbuttoning his shirt and parting the fabric. The garment was pushed to his elbows and Loki leaned against his bared chest. His skin was cool but warmth was being pressed into him. He squeezed Loki tight to his chest in a useless attempt to chase their hard reality into oblivion. There was nothing he could do; he felt useless.

Dampness pooled against his skin and he lifted Loki to see tears painting his face. There was no sobbing, sniveling, or shuddering. The drops trailed silently as though the rest of his body had forgotten how to express the feeling of desolation.

He held Loki’s face and wiped the damp lines with his thumbs. He’d never seen someone cry as gracefully as this, and he knew it meant the verdict Loki had reached had taken months to arrive at.

Loki inclined his head and pressed their foreheads together. Clint stroked over thin cheeks and wove his hands through thick and long black hair to brace at the back of Loki’s neck. He spoke, quiet and understanding.

“Yeah, I know. Me, too.”

Loki stripped him of his shirt and belt and they kissed. It was slow and promoted a surge of emotion Clint wished he’d never known. It was familiar, and as much as he loved the way Loki kissed he hated this feeling. He lightly bit Loki’s lower lip and tightened his fingers to grip handfuls of hair close to the roots. The inhale it created as their mouths were pressed together signaled the pleasure derived. Clint took command of their connection, banishing the sense of despair, and kissed Loki as one would a lover of many years. His actions had passion and heat, and their breath became helplessly entangled. His determination bled to Loki like a contagion. Now it was better. Clint could handle passion so dangerous it threatened to suffocate him.

Loki wore only a robe, and pulling one tail of the silk sash released the bow. The panels parted and Clint slipped his hands, now warm, against the subtle slope of Loki’s sides. He drew him in and kissed his neck in all the places and ways that would cause goose bumps. The deep inhale and sudden malleability of Loki’s body let him lead.

It was when he pressed Loki to the bed, both of them naked, that he knew tonight was different. Loki pulled at him and nearly devoured his mouth in kisses, as though egging him on. There were nights Loki had proven his ability to be a tease, but there was no evidence of it tonight. In place of any games was a blatant hunger.

Clint turned him over, onto his stomach. The position lacked intimacy, but he pressed the length of his body to Loki’s and kissed his shoulders and neck to compensate. He was careful when they joined, having prepared very little, and alternated between rough and gentle. He maintained control over himself, preventing an orgasm for as long as he could, and focused his efforts on thoroughly exhausting Loki.

After a session of slow-slow thrusting, he worked into another hard and fast rhythm, unsure how much longer he could continue the on-off game. His hand skimmed the line of Loki’s abdomen and he watched the curling and uncurling of large hands in the sheets. Tiny hitches in Loki let him know when he was hitting the mark. He used these details as a guide but soon admitted to himself he was unable to last.

He moved to take Loki in hand. His fingers closed and he stroked once.

Loki convulsed and grabbed his forearm to stop the action. A broken noise was forced from him as his hips snapped back of their own accord. Clint met the motion and allowed himself to let go. He followed Loki’s path as he pressed their bodies tight and found his cheek to Loki’s spine. His jaw tensed as he rode out his orgasm. Beneath him Loki squirmed and shuddered through a pulsating finish and didn’t stifle his vocals. Clint’s body eased of tension and his pleasure-swamped brain stumbled through a foggy bliss from the knowledge that Loki was more than satisfied. As the initial spiking subsided, the body beneath him slumped.

Loki was panting and shaking, collapsed into the bed and resigned to being there until his capability to stand returned.

Clint bent to place a kiss between shoulder blades, “I didn’t realize you were that close.”

Loki made a weak, bone-weary noise.

“Yeah, I bet. I’ll start a bath.”

 

 

The bath was large enough for both of them, and Clint found it funny it took them a year to share it as they were now.

Loki was quiet and still, leaning against Clint’s chest with legs folded up. His arms were wrapped comfortably around Clint’s, as though he insisted on being held, and his head was tipped onto a shoulder.

The silence wasn’t awkward, but Clint tasted a certain sadness that carried a foreboding blackness. He didn’t ignore it but he didn’t actively pursue it. Understanding it more than he already did wasn’t his goal. Maybe he was going through some kind of denial.

As they were now, things felt near a close. Clint wasn’t sure what to think, because he’d been here before – on the precipice of another chapter of his life closing.

“Loki?”

“Mm?”

Clint moved his shoulder to spur movement. Loki lifted his head enough to allow motion but seemed defiant and pressed his face into Clint’s neck. He didn’t care to be bothered with questions and Clint knew it well by now.

“Growing up, were you often complimented on your looks?”

Loki’s exhale was the sudden broadening of his lips into a smile.

“Serious question.”

Loki’s head rolled a little, “No. Thor was the center of attention. He was fawned over for what you mortals would call masculinity, though the concept is useless when applied to the universe.”

Clint pulled his arm from beneath Loki’s hold and swept black hair away from a temple where he placed a kiss.

Loki inhaled as though savoring worship, “You ask interesting questions but the way you present them and your timing brings them across as infantile.”

“Mmph,” Clint’s brow furrowed even as he continued to admire the texture of Loki’s hair, “I just think you’re really handsome.”

Loki sighed, but it was a release of flattery instead of irritation. It was a thank you, even if it was never voiced.

“And you obviously weren’t told it enough because you don’t think you are. But you are.”

“You’ve only seen a part of me. My native form looks far different.”

“Native form?”

“I am of Jotunheim and share characteristics similar to the giant we met nearly a year ago.”

“Whoa, really? You turn into a walking, talking icicle?”

“Not as you saw, but… Mm. I shall expand.”

Loki explained his blue skin and red eyes that created terror in the children of Asgard. He went on to describe how it felt to realize he was the very monster he’d heard stories about and was essentially raised to hate and fear. But it wasn’t mother and father who ingrained these thoughts – it wove through Asgard and beyond. It was the men and women they spoke to on their adventures and the occasional dip into Jotunheim where they had a reputation to cause trouble that cemented these beliefs.

Clint examined one of Loki’s arms, “So you turn dark blue and have red eyes? I don’t see how that’s a problem. Sounds kinda sexy-exotic.”

Loki turned his head to confront him, “You make light of-”

Clint kissed him, “On Earth we call what you described racism: condemning an entire people because of ignorance, misconceptions, and stereotypes. It’s poisonous and wrong. I’m not making light of it; I’m saying I understand, and the fact you’re not the same as Thor isn’t an issue.”

Loki studied him carefully and Clint had come to recognize the prolonged observation as a search for a tell.

Clint smiled, “I’m not lying, bud.”

“No, you aren’t, are you?” Loki relaxed against him, “You haven’t lied to me a single time.”

“I think someone famous once said something about how not lying means you don’t have to remember anything.” Clint swept water over Loki’s chest and shoulders. The warmth and gentle trickle smoothed a sense of tranquility over their minds. The noise the water made, a liquid chirping, was a source of comfort.

“You really like bathing.” Clint rubbed his hands over Loki’s chest and stomach. The attention generated an appreciative sigh and earned him a kiss. He was given no verbal response and assumed Loki didn’t feel like talking. That wasn’t unusual, and Clint forced himself into silence and focused on bathing Loki.

The pampering never grew old. Loki loved the attention and Clint found administering it was relaxing. Over and over, he combed his fingers through Loki’s hair and massaged his scalp. The water temperature was maintained long after the fire met death beneath the collapse of its own greed.

“I’m glad it was you.”

Clint didn’t falter in his motions even after Loki’s unexpected severance of silence, “What do you mean?”

“I think you know. Had I been stranded here with one of your comrades I dare say things would have turned out far worse.”

“Or they could have turned out better.”

“Humans have displayed an irritating tendency for positivity.”

Clint chuckled, “Sorry.” He kissed Loki’s cheek and smothered his face into wet hair. The way Loki smelled laced into Clint’s subconscious to create a sense of security. When he fell asleep he missed the scent, but upon waking he was unable to avoid it when loops and waves of hair were in his face.

That night was unique, because instead of Loki migrating to him over the course of the night he curled against him from the start. It brought Clint peace of mind and body, and before he knew it the gates to sleep opened and he was guided inside.

 

 

“What are you _doing_?” Loki’s soft laugh was a good, albeit rare, sound.

Clint was smiling as he smoothed his hand up and down Loki’s thigh. He kissed the outer side, midway up, and shot Loki a playful look.

“ _Barton_.” Despite the harsh tone, he knew Loki was playing along.

“Nothin’. Just appreciating you.”

“Appreciating me?” Loki lifted his free leg to partner it with his other that was on Clint's shoulder. As he expected, it was accepted and promptly given similar treatment as the first.

“God yeah, you’re so beautiful. Look at you. How are you this attractive when you never try?”

Loki tipped his head back, onto their pillows, “I told you, this isn’t my natural form.”

“I don’t think eye and skin color are going to detract anything. You could be neon pink and you’d still get my motor running.”

“Noted.”

“Seriously,” Clint parted his legs and slid between them until they were nose-to-nose, “what you’ve got goes beyond physical. I’m not sure what it is, but you’re smart, witty, and all over sexy.”

Loki was focused on the ceiling, “I’m a criminal.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Clint kissed his neck, “I’m kind of a flake.”

“I’ve seen no such evidence.”

“I’m a bit annoying.”

“A truth.”

Clint laughed, “That’s the part you agree with?”

Loki chuckled and it was a deep, teasing sound, “You make it easy to taunt.”

“I’ll admit to that part.” He patted Loki’s thigh and sat upright, “I’ll get some breakfast. Any requests?”

“You.” Loki slung a leg onto his shoulder to stall him.

“Me? You had me for dessert last night.”

“It was enjoyable enough to warrant another go.”

Clint’s smile wrinkled the corners of his eyes, “Yeah, it was good. Really good. Okay, I’ll be back soon.” He kissed the tender flesh of Loki’s inner thigh, patted the outer, and lowered the limb to make his way to the kitchen.

He made tea and prepared fruit from their indoor garden. He fumbled a peach-like fruit and it went rolling across the floor. He gave chase and caught it right before Loki’s workbench.

“Not today, little guy.” Straightening, he dusted the slightly fuzzy skin off. He pushed aside Loki’s papers cluttering the cutting block. When several scattered due to his motion he paused to inspect.

Dozens of crumpled sheets of parchment were littering the top of the bench. Loki, who always kept his notes and research neatly stacked, had never crumpled a sheet of parchment since their arrival.

A sense of dread and pinprick of realization overtook him. Whatever was contained on those marred sheets was probably the cause for Loki’s behavior recently. Clint couldn’t think of any other reason, and he was unfolding and smoothing out the nearest piece before he could stop himself.

Symbols were scrawled all over, as though Loki had worked out magical equations. It was like looking upon the work of a mathematician who thought he was close to a breakthrough and had ceaselessly worked faster and harder to ride a train of thought until the tracks ran out.

Clint unrolled paper after paper until he found one only half riddled in ink. He tried to ease some of the wrinkling to better read it. Aside from the symbols, notes were written in English, and the last sentences were no exception.

_Spell impossible without a human sacrifice. I will die a mortal._

Clint lowered the paper, feeling like he’d been sentenced to life in prison at the same time he’d been set free.

Loki couldn’t sacrifice him, but in coming to that conclusion he had surrendered to live his life here.

Clint had hoped the feeling of defeat would subside – he had hoped it was temporary and they would both return to their mental scrabbling to find an escape. But Loki’s words had a finalizing, last-nail-in-the-coffin aura to them.

Loki had given in completely.

And Clint couldn’t accept that.

 

 

Loki waited, but when Clint didn’t return he rose and pulled his robe on. Tying it in a neat bow, as he always did, he stepped into the kitchen but found it empty. Clint wasn’t inside, and a quick glance to his boots revealed they, too, were gone.

On his way to the door he found one of his parchment sheets unfolded on the game table but wrinkled beyond repair. Several of the game pieces were tipped over, causing chaos amid their game-in-progress. He picked the parchment up and read his own, neat handwriting.

He supposed this wouldn’t do.

His shoes were cold when he slipped his feet into them, and his long coat was no better as he pulled it across his shoulders like a cape. He opened the door and shielded his eyes from the initial intensity of light.

“Barton.” He called to him, seeing him standing in front of the altar of stones. There was no movement, to his irritation, and he walked in Clint’s boot prints and repeated the name. Several times.

He reached out, touching a strong shoulder, “ _Clint_.”

“Sorry.”

Loki almost heaved a sigh of relief, “What are you doing out here? There is nothing new for us to see.”

“No. You’re right. Nothing to see but there’s plenty to talk about. Off and on we’ve avoided talking about it because it’s not a glossy or clean conversation. We haven’t really… come to a mutual agreement on it.”

Loki’s voice sharpened, “There is nothing _mutual_ about making a decision such as this.”

Clint turned and lifted his head to meet his gaze, “I disagree.”

Loki looked like Clint had stabbed him.

“You’ve gotten attached to me.”

“ _Don’t_.” He turned.

“We have to discuss this.” He grabbed Loki’s shoulders before he could flee, “You can’t keep sidestepping me. This is important.”

Loki whipped around, glaring, “Yes! Alright? Yes, I’ve gotten attached! Is that what you want? You want me to admit this weakness? You want me to come right out and say that I can’t kill you because I named the stray? Is that what you want?” He brushed Clint’s hand off and stepped back, veins protruding and face reddening.

“I don’t need you to admit it to me. I already know,” Clint’s eyes reflected his pain and apology, “but we have to do something besides ignore the problem. It’s not going away. Nobody, Loki, _nobody_ knows where we are.”

Loki was trembling, but Clint couldn’t tell if it was caused by emotion or the chill. Perhaps it was both.

“And that gives us very few options.” He pulled his hunting knife from his boot and knelt in the snow before Loki. The edge of the blade came to his throat, promising a clean and easy cut, but Loki grabbed his forearm and pulled it away.

“Stop this.”

Clint swallowed and met his eyes. He was at peace with his own decision, but he saw what it was doing to Loki. One part anger bubbled from him, another part terror, and a final part refusal.

“You’re offering your life for mine.”

“Yeah.”

“Why would you do this?” The inability to accept such a willing sacrifice grated against everything inside Loki. It would settle over his conscious easier if he forcefully claimed Clint’s life.

“Because we’re stuck here, Loki - all we do is survive. I can’t just _survive_ for the rest of my life. That’s not living.” He breathed, “We’re both already dead.”

Loki took the blade from him, “And if I disagree with that?”

Clint shook his head, “I know you don’t want to stay here, and I know you don’t like being mortal.”

“And we’ve established I don’t like the idea of killing you.”

He took Loki’s hand and guided the knife to his throat, “If one of us can make it out that’s better than none. I’m not afraid.” His eyes closed.

Loki’s jaw flexed and he refrained from calling Clint every vulgar term he knew. He hated the way his hand shook as he ran his fingers through Clint’s hair, but hated even more the strength he lacked to take this human’s life. He felt unbearably weak.

“How _dare_ you.” Loki leaned over, the flat of the blade against Clint’s cheek as he took his face in both his hands. He pressed a kiss to the top of his head and stilled with his lips against the soft brush of hair.

“I’m sorry. About what I’ve done, and any pain it causes you.”

Loki tensed his jaw and straightened, “You are a brave man. Every bit the warrior.” His thumb rubbed Clint’s temple and he caressed his hair in that way someone did knowing it may be their last chance. Clint lifted his chin, exposing his neck, as the blade teased his skin.

Loki shook his head, “Offering your life to save someone like me isn’t your smartest decision.”

“But it is _my_ decision.”

“This is a truth I cannot deny. You are your own man, Clinton Barton.” Loki swallowed and steadied his hands, “You are certain this is what you want?”

“Yes.”

“I will remember this moment.”

The blade pressed firm against the skin of Clint’s neck as though carefully lining up for a strike. He prepared himself for the inevitable slit.

The embedding of metal into flesh was a sound Clint had grown intimate with, but what he was hearing wasn’t the sound of a throat being slit. It was a blade plunging into substantial tissue, and his eyes snapped open to see the knife withdrawn from Loki’s ribcage.

“ _Loki_!” Clint ripped the knife from his hand and threw it aside. Blood was already flushing the wound and Loki looked anguished even as he tried to mask his pain. He sunk into Clint’s arms and stuttered a tortured breath as pressure was applied.

“You idiot! You stupid, fucking idiot!” Clint laid him against the stones and pulled aside the robe, “Why did you do that? What’s the point? Now we’ll both be stuck here, _and one of us dead_!”

Loki seemed to hiccup, and one of his palms slowly folded over Clint’s scrabbling hands, “Cease. It is my heart.”

“No.” Clint lowered and shook his head, “You can’t _do_ this to me.”

“Shhh,” Loki touched his face, “it is too late, Barton.”

“Why - _why_ would you do this to me?” Clint looked at him, eyes beginning to water and already full of betrayal and pain. His hands still worked to apply pressure, and Loki tamed them again.

“You’ve wanted to ask me a question for a long time. Ask it now.”

Clint shook his head, “Stop.”

“Ask before you lose your chance to ever know my answer.”

Clint pressed his head to Loki’s shoulder and ground his teeth until they creaked.

“I give you this chance. Do not waste it.”

Clint pulled back and saw the ghostly pale skin of Loki’s face and the pool of blood growing around them.

“Your question.”

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, “W-why did you attack New York? There was nothing in it for someone like you. So why?”

He opened his eyes to see Loki smile at him. It was bittersweet but relieved as though closure had been found. Loki’s other hand pushed into his arm. He took hold of it as something small was pressed into his palm. His fingers cushioned it and he looked to see a small black pawn from the game board. He didn’t understand. He looked at Loki, confused and afraid he’d be doomed to questioning the meaning of the gesture.

“Because I didn’t have a choice.” Loki touched his face again, fingertips tracing over his clean shaven skin. The gesture was a goodbye, a display of fondness, and a thank you. The arm fell away. He lacked the strength.

It was the next heartbeat that was his last, and the life slipped from his eyes in an instant.

It was like a candle going out; Clint had just watched him die. The sudden severance hurt. A coldness well beyond physical sunk into his bones like a suffocating dread.

He was alone.

He was completely alone.

His heart felt unstable in his chest, beating so hard he thought it might rattle to pieces and spare him further torment by killing him.

“Y-you’re the b-biggest fucking prick I’ve ever met.” Clint pulled Loki into his arms wishing he could shake him violently, but he was only capable of cradling him and burying his face in waves of dark hair. The blood soaking his clothes was still warm. It was a different kind of pain to recognize it as a sign life was here not long ago, and if he could twist time, reverse it, even just minutes into the past he could change things. As seconds continued to pass the blood grew colder and Loki’s living and breathing drifted farther from Clint’s own. It was an ever-widening gap that cast darkness over the last of Clint’s hope.

He underwent a full body quaking and tried not to break apart. Battling anger, and the urge to cry, left him unfeeling of the world around him. The cold of the ground didn’t bite, and the wind didn’t nip. Everything paled to the hurricane bullying through his mind and heart.

When he couldn’t handle the erratic beating of his heart a minute more, he eased Loki’s lifeless body to the altar.

“It was supposed to be me lying there, you jerk.” He sniffled and folded Loki’s hands gracefully one over the other. As he had done countless times in the last year, he pushed Loki’s hair away from his face.

Lying there, not long dead, Loki looked like he could open his eyes any moment and tell him another story of Asgard. But it never came, even after several minutes of Clint’s wishing it wasn’t true.

His legs were stiff and stubborn when he stood and turned. He held the little black pawn tight in his hand. He felt barren inside and his first four steps were weak limps. His stomach threatened to purge but he tamed it.

He felt his pulse all over, like his entire body was raw and throbbing. Every step closer to the house caused the beat to intensify.

The ground shook. Another pulse, this one not matching his own, went through him. Stopping, Clint turned and scanned the area for anything big enough to cause the tremors. His initial fear suggested Frost Giant, but there was no visual sign of such company.

The altar drew his eye, as the carved lines were no longer grey but red. The hand-carved grooves were filling up like an IV tube, chasing along the pattern all the way to the top. It pulsed again, like a powerful beat of someone’s heart.

Clint staggered forward, clumsy and unbelieving, and held out a hand to touch what he sensed was an aura.

The next pulse knocked him onto his back. He rose to his elbows and watched as the stone began to glow an angry red. The pulsing increased. Something electric snapped and snarled.

A burst of red-white light temporarily blinded him. He shielded his face and eyes, yelling at the potent visual strike, and then wished he had earplugs as the ensuing _crack_ and _boom_ damn near deafened him.

The pulse leveled and the light died away, allowing him to lower his arm and dare a look. He blinked and his vision slowly returned. He rubbed his eyes and focused on the altar.

It was crumbled in a blackened heap. The snow was melted and the ground beneath missing or charred. It looked like a bomb had gone off. There were no remnants of Loki.

“Is that supposed to be a misfire? A spell gone wrong?” Clint sat up and ran his hands through his hair. Now he didn’t even have a body to burry.

“I’m alone.”

There would be no gravestone to talk to as he descended into insanity.

“You are not.”

Clint’s heart palpitated and he turned his eyes in the direction of the voice.

Loki stood to his side, wrapped in his long coat and looking regal.

“Loki?” Clint stood and gaped, “You’re...”

Loki lifted a hand, as though preparing to explain, but his open palm erupted in light.

Clint squinted, not wanting to look away, but the intensifying light forced him to close his eyes. He yelled for him to stop, but his plea ceased when a sensation took hold of him.

A lurch, sudden and all-encompassing, pulled him back. It felt like his consciousness was displaced from his body by several inches, as though operating on a separate plane of existence.

The pull tugged again and he was thrust into blackness.


	6. Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint never cared for big welcome home parties anyway.

Part VI

 

It was the humming of fluorescent lights that upset Clint, because he knew they belonged to a hospital. He hated hospitals.

He woke coughing and gasping so hard his head hurt. Any attempt to roll over or sit was met with immediate and merciless confinement. His arms – they were _stuck_.

He let his vision adjust to the harsh and grating artificial lighting. He was trying to sit upright but _couldn’t_. Looking the length of his body, he saw black restraints on his biceps, wrists, and ankles. To his side, a heart monitor was chirping so loudly it might as well have been the alarm for a call to arms.

Three nurses bustled into the room and clamored about his cot that was less like a cot and more like a permanently horizontal straightjacket.

_Lie down._

_Calm down._

_Sit still._

_You’re fine, Mr. Barton._

He wasn’t fine, and he wasn’t _Mr. Barton_ because Mr. Barton was his father. He wasn’t in a sitting still mood, and all their hands together didn’t have near the strength to convince him to calm down. His biceps flexing beneath the woven restraints caused him pain, but it fell to the wayside. He asked to be released.

They wouldn’t listen.

“How did I get here?”

They wouldn’t answer.

Again and again he prodded for information, but the more he fought the more distressed all of them became. Two more nurses entered, both male, but they had just as much difficulty attempting to man-handle him. The restraints were creaking and he began yelling at them. His skull felt like it’d been mounted in a vice three cranks too tight.

The metal bars of the bed frame gave, bending as he pulled, but the woven fabric remained impervious to his struggling. One of the nurses yelled something about sedating him, and in the next instant a needle pierced his skin.

They stood back and he watched their concerned and afraid faces as the drug soaked into his system. His arms slackened as he weakened.

One of the nurses touched another’s shoulder, “Call Director Fury.”

Clint’s vision faded to black.

 

 

A _tap… tap…… tap_ was the inconsistent noise that breached Clint’s dreams. He opened his eyes and stared at a white wall. The room was quiet aside from the tapping and lent an unsettling quality to Clint’s position of detainment. He turned his head toward the source of the tapping. A hand was resting on a bedside table. In it was _his_ little black game piece clacking against the table. The hand was dark, looked strong and capable, and was attached to Director Fury’s body.

“Nick.” Clint’s voice sounded like his throat had been filled with gravel and sand.

“Barton. Welcome back.” Fury turned the pawn in his hand as he examined it, “We have reason to believe you’re compromised.”

It was not the first thing he wanted to hear upon his return, and maybe that’s why it was so easy to let the shade of sleep cast over him again. Blackness was far more welcoming.

 

 

Clint’s first look in a mirror made him avert his eyes. His hair was so much longer and his eyes haggard he wasn’t even sure that was his reflection looking back at him.

Natasha set the mirror aside but said nothing.

“Thanks.” Clint leaned against his mound of pillows and tried to appreciate the fact he was permitted to sit upright now.

Natasha nodded, curt and professional, but her fingers curling into his hand let him know she was there for him. Even if she couldn’t release his restraints she could soften his pain. It helped, and when he squeezed her hand it was the fact she squeezed back that eased his anxiety and impatience.

She held his hand for several minutes, and when she stood it was to pour him a cup of coffee. She sprinkled in tiny chocolate chips and stirred until they completely melted before she added a hazelnut creamer. She embraced him with one arm, pressing his cheek to her chest and stroking his hair. The action was as much for her as it was for him.

She took the first sip as she sat on the edge of the bed and after licking her lips she held it to his mouth and let him take three long swallows.

Coffee had never tasted so good.

“I missed you.”

“’Tasha.” Clint looked up at her, knowing how rare it was to hear such words from her. He smiled, lopsided but genuine, and knew by the tug of her lips she understood just how much it meant to hear her say it.

 

 

There was no closure. None. He couldn’t speak to Loki about their experiences because Loki wasn’t there. The lack of communication made it feel like nothing – like the last year of his life didn’t happen. Was Loki sweeping things under the rug to never see the light of day again? Were they enemies just like before?

“How long were you gone?”

Clint’s eyes rose to Fury’s. He had almost forgotten he had a guest.

“Exactly?”

“A rough estimate will do.”

Clint returned to staring at the wall straight ahead, “Why? Didn’t keep track? Think I was dead? Didn’t bother with a memorial service so you didn’t write it on the calendar at Stark Tower?”

Fury sighed, “I know you don’t like being detained, and certainly not at a hospital, but you of all my agents should understand why this is necessary.”

“I don’t feel compromised, Nick. I feel betrayed. By you.”

“How much time?”

Clint hadn’t seen or heard a current date since his arrival. He imagined that was intentional. This was a test, and one he had no choice but to play. Feeling it was useless to remain obstinate, he gave in.

“Over a year. About a year and four months.”

“Yeah,” Fury nodded, “you look like you’ve been gone that long. Your hair is all over the place and you’ve lost that pretty-boy tan your job gets you. I think your first assignment will be to get a haircut.”

“Funny. Usually I’m the one with the quips. Was my estimate in the right ballpark?”

Fury leaned back in his chair, “For us, you’ve been gone about five weeks.”

That was a bolt of reality to Clint’s system. The heart monitor gave a stout _bip_.

“ _Five_ _weeks_?” He sounded as devastated as he felt, and when he brought his eyes up his face must have conveyed as much because Fury seemed surprised.

“Barton.”

“Five _fucking_ weeks?” The heart monitor’s beeping increased. Then it scrambled, registering a palpitation.

“I need you to calm down, soldier.”

Clint drew a breath to control himself, but it was more out of a desire to avoid sedation than obligation to follow orders. He closed his eyes and focused on things he enjoyed. In the past, his thoughts would flood with running, jumping, archery, Natasha and others, and a hot cup of coffee on a cool autumn day.

Now all he saw was Loki. He could hear the laugh that promised mischief and clearly visualize the curve of those sinfully talented lips that put on a broad display of teeth when smiling. If nothing else, the memories pleased the heart monitor.

“The reason you’re being detained is because we’re concerned Loki got into your head. Like before.”

Clint almost laughed, “He was mortal. Just like the good doctor said he’d be.”

“Doctor Strange said he couldn’t be sure his work for us was successful, given both you and Loki disappeared five weeks ago. Therefore, we assumed the worst.”

“You assumed I was dead.”

“Yes, but for the record I never assume you’re dead. You have an uncanny ability to survive when most anyone else wouldn’t. It’s why you’re part of the Avengers Initiative.”

“I don’t feel like an Avenger. I feel like a prisoner.”

“And until you demonstrate your mental stability I’m afraid you’re going to continue to feel like one.”

“Loki was mortal. He didn’t get into my head. He _couldn’t_.”

“Or maybe he did and you just don’t know it. He could be in your head right now.”

Clint glared at him, “Don’t even _start_ with that bullshit.”

Fury leaned forward and held out the little black pawn so Clint could see it, “I had our lab boys run tests on this. The wood it’s made from doesn’t grow anywhere on Earth. Now I ask you… just where have you been? And what the _hell_ happened to Loki?”

 

 

Clint didn’t tell Fury much of anything. He refused, because there was a side of him that decided to be belligerent toward the man in charge of his detainment. Another side of him knew it was best to spill at least some of the beans.

So he agreed to tell Natasha and have her report on the issue. He told her most everything, but left out the sex part. No one needed to know that.

But he did reveal a side to Loki that wasn’t cruel or unstable. He explained the deadly edge of Loki’s intelligence, but balanced it by expressing the wit and sense of humor that blossomed over time.

“Near the end of things we never argued. It was like living with a roommate I had not only come to tolerate, but also consider a friend. I tried to remind myself what he did and who he killed, but the more time we spent together the more he unwound and…” He looked up at Natasha. She looked pensive.

“And what?” She seemed genuinely curious.

Clint swallowed, “Seemed sane.”

After his full report they provided more freedom, but he was under supervision at all times outside his ‘cell’. Steve was willing to escort him, to his relief, and after several more days Natasha was permitted to stand in.

They went on walks, and it felt good to stretch his legs on familiar ground. There was a café a couple blocks from the hospital, and Natasha walked him there every day for lunch.

By week two he was discharged from the hospital. He’d been given so many shots and endured so many blood draws he was sick to his stomach of needles. Now he was undergoing a psychological analysis.

The man originally in charge of interviewing had rubbed him the wrong way. Clint decided to analyze him in return. He called him arrogant, among other, less kindly, words.

“What do you want me to tell you that I haven’t already?”

The psychologist removed his thick glasses and sighed as he rubbed a speck that wasn’t there, “You haven’t been very direct in your answers.”

“You’re questions are polarizing. You want a yes or a no when the truth isn’t either.”

“Let’s step back. Maybe we can calm down a little and go over a few things again. Did you leave anything out that you feel needs to be shared?”

“There are probably a lot of little things I could bore you with, if that’s what you want. I was gone over a year.” Clint’s sight was as clear as it had ever been, and he drank in the scrunch of skin around the man’s eyes and the slight quirk that almost curled his lips into a smug smile. He knew what was coming before the man opened his mouth to speak.

“I feel the need to remind you, Mr. Barton, that you were gone a mere five weeks.”

Clint felt the bulge of his veins, the palpitation of his heart and the throb in his temple it caused, and finally the creak of his knuckles as they whitened.

 _It was a year to me_!

The man leaned back in his chair, face pale and eyes swamped in fear.

The roar of rushing blood drained from Clint’s ears and his heartbeat strived to regulate. He was standing, legs parted as though ready for combat, and he registered a dull pain in the tips of his fingers.

His throat hurt, and he realized he had yelled, savagely, at the man. He swallowed, feeling shaky, and looked behind himself at the heavy wooden chair he’d been sitting in. It was on the floor, and the walnut of the arms had splintered where his hands had been.

 

 

Clint was issued a new psychologist, and she was a bit more tolerable.

He told her everything he’d told Natasha; that they started their time in Jotunheim as enemies, and ended it on better terms.

“Do you know why Loki didn’t kill you?”

Clint gave her a level stare, “I told you. He couldn’t. He got attached.”

She tapped her desk with the rubber end of her pencil, “Director Fury and my colleagues believe that is potentially a rouse. Your entire disappearance may very well have been planned – by Loki’s design, you could say.”

“What? You mean you don’t find me charming and adorable enough to keep around? I’m insulted.” He pointed to his face and drew an invisible circle around himself, “I’ve spent most of my life making this mug ruggedly handsome and irresistible to Asgardians. You can look, but don’t touch.”

She wasn’t amused, “Loki may have been playing a game with you. Maybe his real plan had been to make you attached to him.”

Clint felt his back tense as he immediately refused the notion, “What reason could he possibly have?”

“He used you once.”

“Thanks,” Clint looked her dead in the eyes, “thanks for that.”

“For what?”

“You just called me a weak link. You’re implying Loki targeted me because he saw vulnerability in me. He could use me against SHIELD.”

“I think history has established he can and did use you in this manner. I suggest we work to accept that-”

“You really have no idea what it was like for me. You weren’t there. You didn’t experience what I did. You didn’t sew Loki up or watch him have his own breakdown as he came to terms with mortality.”

“No, you’re right. We didn’t. But we’re trying to tell you everything you went through could have been a lie. It could have never happened. Loki could have put those memories in your mind in attempt to bend you to his will.”

“I don’t,” Clint shook his head, “I don’t even want to have this conversation with you anymore.”

“We still have twenty minutes on the clock.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Mr. Barton.”

“I asked you not to call me that.”

“We’re not making much progress.”

“What is it you want from me? You want to know if Loki is messing with my mind? You want to see if I give a funny twitch or something? All of you bark there’s fear I’m compromised. Well, guess what? If you haven’t seen funny behavior by now I don’t think you will. If I’m compromised you’ve got no way of knowing unless I go sideways on all your asses again. So what are you going to do? Throw me in a cell and ruin my life because it’s easier than trusting Natasha’s intuition? Because I know Natasha, and I know she knows I’m in the clear. So if you’re going to keep giving me this bullshit runaround and mental analysis you might as well put a bullet in my skull, because that’s what it feels you’re driving in there anyway.”

She listened to his rant, silent and patient, before opening a folder on her desk. She slid around some papers, studying them, and held one up.

“The medical staff have noted and documented your new tattoo for us."

Clint recognized the symbols. It was the prose Loki said he’d written on him, only it never faded.

“Do you know what this says?” She pointed to the symbols.

“No.”

“We assumed Loki wrote this.”

“Yes.”

“So you were aware of it?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you let him do this?”

Clint scowled, “ _Yes_. He had a tendency to write on surfaces. I happened to be one of them.”

She set the paper flat, “What would you say was the nature of your relationship?”

“Survival.”

“Can you be more specific?”

“Can you stop avoiding the question you really want to ask and just come right out and ask it like a normal _psychologist_?”

She did, “Was your relationship with Loki, at any point in time, of sexual nature?”

“And why are you asking?”

“You’re being defensive.”

“Of course I’m being fucking defensive. For weeks now I’ve been poked, prodded, and harassed, both mentally and physically. Now you’re asking me if I had sex with Loki because you equate intercourse with compromise. I’m going to tell you it doesn’t matter if I did or if I didn’t have sex with him, because sex is just that. Sex. Unlike making love, sex is purely physical. Easy to be unattached if all you have are one-night stands.”

But he never said no, and to her that was as good as a yes.

 

 

Clint was on his third therapist. Thor came for a visit, which went fine until Fury asked him if he could read the symbols on Clint’s back.

“Yes, that is a very old language indeed. Loki used it in his studies of magic, or poetry.”

“Can you tell us what it says?” Fury crossed his arms.

Clint stood, stripped of his shirt and back to Thor, and waited.

“It is simple.” Thor pressed a finger to the lettering, “ _What the Hawk seeks, the Hawk finds_.”

“Does that mean anything to you?”

Thor shook his head, “Nay, I fear not.”

Fury turned to Clint, “Any idea why Loki wrote that on you?”

Clint stared straight ahead, “Because I’m Hawkeye. That’s all I know.”

“He ever call you that?”

“No.”

“What did he call you?”

“Barton or Agent Barton. Also some obscenities. Would you like to hear those, too?”

Fury exhaled and headed for the door. When they were alone, Thor spoke up.

“Is my brother well?”

Clint pulled his shirt on, “I don’t know.”

“He returned you completely unharmed?”

“Yeah.”

“Given his recent behaviors that is surprising.”

“We spent a year together. I saved his life, and at the end of things he saved mine.”

“Loki has harbored little regard for debts in recent times. If he spared you, I do not believe it due to any kindness you performed.”

Clint stood in the corner with his forehead against the wall, “Maybe you and my therapists should have lunch sometime, because everybody seems to think Loki is using me.”

 

 

Clint hadn’t seen Natasha for nearly a week, and when he asked if she was away on a mission he was ignored. It was rude and dehumanizing, but he recognized it as the test on his temper it was and didn’t rise to the bait.

Tony came in the next day, and Clint wondered if that had been Fury’s doing. But Tony had coffee, pizza, and a deck of cards. They bullshitted and it made him feel emotionally weightless for several hours. Tony could do that to him; make him forget his troubles. He always credited that ability to Tony’s habit of burying his own problems. At least he didn’t drown them in alcohol anymore.

After another round of poker, Tony slapped him on the arm, “I keep hearing rumors, you know.”

“Oh yeah? About what?”

“You.”

“They telling you I’m crazy?”

“More or less. Think you’re some kind of sleeper for Loki or something like that.”

“You believe that?”

Tony rolled his eyes and blew a raspberry, “Possible, but highly unlikely. You’re a hundred percent Barton. Right here, right now.”

Clint smiled, “Thanks.”

“I’m going to bring shawarma tomorrow. Better be ready.”

He chuckled, “I will be.”

 

 

Tony never made it. Clint was locked down from visitors and it made him wonder if he’d let something slip. His morning coffee was still delivered every day at the exact same time. It was that perfect blend of chocolate and hazelnut he could never get quite right when he made it himself. That simple cup of coffee was his greatest comfort in his personalized prison.

“Stark won’t be in.” Fury was emotionless.

“I kinda figured.” Clint rotated in the small swivel chair of his new room.

“You’ll be kept here until further notice.”

“This the council’s shitty idea? Doesn’t seem like your style. How long am I in for? And what are my crimes?”

“The time is indeterminate. Your crimes might as well be your temper tantrums. You don’t exactly exude mental stability when you’re yelling at everyone who is trying to help.”

“You’re not helping. You’re just salt in the wound.” Clint slid the chair across the small room and kicked off the far wall, “I was supposed to have shawarma with Tony and now I’m not. I haven’t seen Natasha in over a week and no one will tell me why. If Natasha could, she would have kept coming to see me. Why are you taking these things from me now? You gave me some freedom and things were going great.”

“Until you became vocally violent.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Clint looked up, a harshness in his eyes.

Silence.

“What? No answer? I guess not. I don’t think any of you get it. I was stranded for over a year in some foreign place with one other intelligent life form. That make any of you stop to think?” Clint stood, “Oh, and by the way, he wasn’t always much for conversation for the adventure in ye olde Jotunheim. Do you know how maddening that is?”

“I need you to sit down.”

“I come back and you lock me up for tests and screening. You say you want to ensure my sanity is intact but you people are the reason I’m _losing_ it! What crime did I commit to get two baby steps down from solitary confinement?” He was gesturing wildly and could feel the veins in his neck protruding.

“Sit down. Or I’ll have you sedated.”

“Sedated? Wow, really? Again?”

Fury had already waved in several agents, “Last chance. Don’t make me do this, Clint. Sit. Down.”

“After being cooped up for an entire winter you psychoanalyzing idiots bottle me up in here and refuse me even a little parole and you think I’m going to _sit down_ when and where you tell me? _Fuck you_!”

The ensuing scuffle was messy and violent. Fury noted every flawless execution of technique that made Clint the deadly operative he was. Soldiers went sprawling but were replaced by more.

“God dammit.” Fury lifted his gun and fired a small dart into Clint’s shoulder. It was ripped away immediately, but its effects were rapid and Clint slowed.

“Get back.” Fury waved the soldiers off, “He’s down. He’s down.”

Clint dropped to his knees, face reddened and arms feeling like a forming mudslide. He panted with the effort he was making to remain conscious, but he was fighting a losing battle. Darkness was setting in. Before he faded, he fixed Fury with an expression he hoped conveyed how betrayed and disappointed he felt.

“Living with him for a year wasn’t that bad. Not when I see where I am now. This is the real nightmare.”

 

 

It wasn’t raining anymore. It was pouring. Clint woke to find himself decorated in new bracelets. They were thick and bulky and _heavy_ , and as a bonus feature were connected to his bed.

He wouldn’t be going far without permission. Not even to the bathroom from the looks of it.

His therapist entered and read him a list. It was all the damage he’d done to the guys that attempted to subdue him before his little nap.

Broken nose.

Two broken arms.

A concussion.

And some major bruising around a pair of cracked ribs.

“Clint,” his therapist sighed and took a seat beside his bed, “I know this is hard for you, but your attitude is only making it worse.”

“So’s yurs.”

She looked worried for him, “Are you thirsty?”

“No.”

“You sure? You sound like you are.”

Clint took a breath and sighed, “Yeah. I am, but I don’t want anything.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m afraid someone is going to help me go to the bathroom and I’m trying to spare myself that indignity as long as possible. Maybe I’ll just dedicate my life to never urinating again.”

“That sounds uncomfortable.”

“A mild discomfort when you consider what all of you have been doing to me.”

“And I’m trying to make things better, but we’re dealing with people over our heads.”

“Yeah, the high and mighty council. That doesn’t excuse any of this.”

She drew a breath, “Is there anything we could do to improve things for you?”

“Get clearance for Natasha to see me.”

She looked confused, “Ms. Romanoff? You don’t want a book or maybe some movies or shows to pass the time?”

“No. Just Tasha.”

Her face said she didn’t understand, “She’s away on an assignment.”

Clint’s gaze pinned her, “No. She isn’t.”

“Alright,” she scrawled something on her notepad, “let’s say she isn’t. Why would you choose her company over someone else’s? Tony seemed far more social. You and Natasha sat in relative silence. When you weren’t recounting your time away for her to place on record, the two of you exchanged very few words.”

“Words complicate things. We don’t need them.”

“Clint.”

“None of you highly paid pencil pushers can begin to understand what it’s like for people like us. We’ve run the field and have faced gods and giants and somehow survived. We’re not Asgardians, Hulks, or geniuses in fancy flying armor - we’re breakable, but for some reason we’re not smart enough to let that stop us. For everyone here I was gone five weeks. For me it was over a year. _A year_. Loki was human, weak, injured, and therefore didn’t have a choice but to rely on me for survival. It was a temporary relationship to benefit both of us, but none of you seem to understand that. You cry foul. Sometimes life dishes out challenges so great you have to work with people you’d rather see face down in a ditch dying of alcohol poisoning because they hit rock bottom. That was Loki’s rock bottom, and we agreed not to strangle each other to increase our chances of surviving. And you know what? Without me he would have died, and without him I wouldn’t be back on Earth. _And_ I’d be dead from eating something poisonous.

“So when you ask me what I want my answer is simple; I want a friend who understands. I want Natasha, because there is no one else in this entire organization who _gets it_ like she does. Everything I just told you? I don’t have to tell Natasha. She just knows, and she doesn’t judge me.

“Tell me, how do you feel about the hand you’ve played in my confinement? Are you proud of the humiliation I’ve been through? Do you really go home at the end of the day and think _ahhh, it’s nice to know I’m helping Clint Barton_ as you settle down for the night in the freedom of your own home while I sit here caged and stripped of nearly all my rights?”

“You know why we’re doing this. Don’t pretend we’re in the wrong for protecting others.”

“Stop talking. I’m not done.” Clint took a breath, “I’m not saying I’m in the right and you’re in the wrong. I’m saying your execution is wrong. I may have associated with the enemy, but I’m telling you I didn’t have a choice. Would you have killed Loki? Was that the decision the council thinks I should have made? If so, let me clue you in to something very important about the content of my character. At the end of the day I don’t do what I’m told; I do what’s _right_. Killing Loki wouldn’t be right. He’s someone’s son and someone’s brother. Yeah, people screw up. Yeah, civilized behavior doesn’t magically make up for potential past mistakes, but it doesn’t mean someone is bad. You don’t stack weight after crushing weight on a person and tell them to stand up and then ask them why they aren’t standing up when they’re clearly crippled. That kind of thinking is backwards. You’re not helping – you’re hindering. Our job is to pull people up, not smother their face in the mud, tell them to be good, and then spit on them for hesitating at a tiny bump in the road.”

“It’s difficult to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”

“Or maybe you’re delusional and think you need to change someone who isn’t a problem.”

“You’re saying Loki isn’t a problem? After you admitted he hurt-”

“I’m not talking about Loki. I’m talking about _me_.”

The intensity of his eyes despite the stoicism of the rest of his expression hit her like a shockwave. She swallowed, sensing the anger, depression, self-hatred, and conflict within him. She looked down, staring at her notes and memos. Nothing more was said. She stood and left the room, wiping her eyes.

 

 

It bothered Clint because it was like someone dangling a biscuit in front of a dog. His freedom was right beyond these white walls, but he couldn’t touch it. One step over the threshold and he’d have it. It was _right there_.

But it was unattainable, and that killed him a little more inside every day.

He wasn’t chained anymore, but he’d been moved to a cell that was apparently made to hold someone like him. SHIELD really outdid themselves. He wondered how much his personal little box cost.

Clint fell into depression. He knew how it felt, and for years he’d been in denial about having depression. He had never let it rule his life; out of sheer will and stubbornness he overcame it. But now it crawled into his head and laid roots around every bend of his mind. It was a dark, oppressive presence.

His nightmares came back and then he wasn’t sleeping.

He stopped talking, and on the fourth day of his silence and insomnia kick they administered a sleeping aide. His body fought the initial dosage. When they increased it he lapsed into a coma-like oblivion.

And it was blissfully painless.

 

 

“Barton.”

Clint’s eyes opened and fell on the crisp image of Loki standing over his bed wrapped in an elegant robe. Its gleaming silk was a forest green and reminiscent of pine trees.

“ _Loki_.” Clint rose to his elbows.

Loki held out a hand to prevent further words. He lowered it a moment later and sat beside him. His hand contouring to the side of Clint’s face spread a sense of security across his heart and mind.

“You are quite worse for wear.” Loki’s fingers played over his stubble.

“Putting it lightly.” He’d missed Loki’s subtle smile, and seeing it now was a gift. It caused him to smile, though he was sure his was weary.

Firm and lingering, Loki kissed his temple.

“What happened?”

“Shh.”

Loki embraced him and carded fingers through his neatly cropped hair. The simple act of breathing, the trace scent of another being’s skin tickling his nose, put to rest the last of Clint’s anxieties. He melted into the arms and wrapped one of his own around the thin but sturdy frame.

“When there is time I will indulge your questions, but for now I need you to sleep, Barton. Barton. Barton.”

“ _Barton_!”

Clint jolted awake and saw Nick Fury standing above him. Heart pounding and eyes wide, he tried to organize his thoughts and nail his feet to reality.

He’d been dreaming.

Or had he?

“I didn’t think the drugs were that strong. Time to get up. I have good news.” He held a slip of paper up.

Clint sat and rubbed his eyes, “Christ, Nick. There’s no way I can read that tiny font when just waking up.”

“I’ll summarize for you. It’s your ticket to freedom. Get up, get dressed, and get out. You’re going home. Fucking finally. Do you have any idea how much paperwork I had to submit to get this approved?”

“Sir, I’d kiss you right now if I wasn’t sure you’d shoot me.”

 

 

Clint hit the pavement hard his first day out. He went for a long, long run until his arms and legs burned and every breath he drew felt lined in fire. He loved every second of it.

He showered, shaved, and fell onto his bed that night in a boneless pile of limbs. He’d missed home sweet home and the smell of coffee that lingered as a permanent undertone as though it had soaked into the paint from years of his morning to mid afternoon ritual.

Placed on medical leave until further notice, he found himself with more free time than he knew what he’d do with. He started his vacation by sleeping.

In fact, he spent his first four days sleeping off and on. In the following weeks he went shopping, drove his motorcycle, got his car a tune-up and new tires, and went out for lunch with Natasha every day she was available.

By week three he became restless. His walks grew longer. He had been explicitly told he wasn’t allowed to patrol for crime.

“Stupid.” He muttered and kicked a rock off the cement path. It was getting dark and sleep beckoned. Tomorrow he could go to his archery range in Stark Tower. Maybe see Tony. There was always a chance Bruce might be around, too.

Week eight brought about change. He was at SHIELD every Monday morning for a checkup and evaluation. They were taking his reintroduction slow, and from the sounds of it he’d be out for at least the next four months.

It sounded like a death sentence to Clint. He had to do something. He needed to fight crime like other people needed a balanced diet to thrive. Crime fighting was a part of him. Snuffing it out of his life for an additional four months sounded suspiciously like a catch-22.

After that news he went home, took a long, hot shower, and fell asleep wet and naked to avoid facing his downtrodden feelings.

 

 

Morning came and Clint roused to a different but familiar sense of placement. The air was emptier, with no hint of coffee or the musty grunge of age his apartment complex perpetually smelled of, and he knew he wasn’t in Kansas anymore. Or New York, as the case was.

He was comfortable, however, and that moment before he opened his eyes he knew where he was.

“Jotunheim.” Clint exhaled and saw his breath but he wasn’t cold. A fire was crackling; still working to heat the room.

“ _Perceptive_.” There was amusement in Loki’s voice.

Clint stared at the rafters, “Is this real or am I dreaming?”

Loki set his book down and turned onto his side, half propped on a mound of pillows, “Do you dream of me often?”

Clint turned his head and met Loki’s eyes. He noted how very naked they both were, but the detail collapsed in favor of visually retracing the structure of Loki’s face.

“Every night.” Clint swallowed, “Am I dead?”

Loki smiled, almost evilly, and exhaled, “No.”

“Prove it.”

This intrigued Loki, and he leaned over to press his mouth against Clint’s in a delicate, fond expression of his intentions. He bit a lower lip hard enough to sting and grant him all the access he required.

Clint bowed and bent to the demands of Loki’s kiss. The tongue wet against his satisfied like a long, slow drink after a trek through a desert. They rolled and he placed himself on top between inviting thighs he’d been unable to banish from his thoughts in their time apart. He gave as willingly as he ever had and drove Loki into such a state of need the nails on his back clawed thick welts into his skin. They felt boiling against the cool air but had the effect of grounding him.

He touched and tasted every place he had before, as though celebrating at a reunion he’d waited ten years to attend. When he breached Loki it was too late in the game to draw their intimacy out any longer. They were both ready and he eagerly rocked Loki into the bed with a firm, sharp pace.

Loki gripped Clint’s shoulders and a clipped shout signaled his stamina had run out. His physical lockup and burst of vocalized ecstasy was the blade that severed Clint’s composure and thrust him over the edge almost in time with his own descent.

It was in the aftermath of their coupling, both panting and sweaty, that Loki presented his proof.

“If you were dead you wouldn’t feel this good.”

Clint kissed his throat, “Where have you been? What happened? How did you find me? Why did you find me?”

Loki shushed him, guiding him to the mattress and pushing forward the silent suggestion of recovery before addressing his questions. Loki made a simple gesture and the mess they had made evaporated in a dusting of smoke. They remained still until their heartbeats slowed and their bodies filtered through the last lingering sensations of orgasm. Loki faced him, running his fingers over the raised veins in Clint’s forearms. There was no hesitation or awkward reintroduction; it was as though picking up right where they left off.

“I watched you die.” Clint peeked up at him from the mattress, having foregone a pillow.

“Yes.”

“But you’re alive.”

“Also a truth.”

“What happened?”

“You said yourself I was mortal. Once I accepted such a fate the answer revealed itself. I made a human sacrifice. My own sacrifice.”

“But you _died_ and now you’re _here_.”

“I admit it was a risk. I had no guarantee I’d linger long enough to reap the benefits of the magic’s execution. I was indeed dead for several minutes, as you know, but the return to normalcy and gift of magic pulled me back.”

Clint eyed him, “That was a high-stakes gamble.”

“Had I not taken it you would not be here with me now. I could have accepted your offer. You prostrated yourself before me, as you saw no alternative.”

“But I guess you did, huh?” Clint’s lips formed a knowing smile.

Loki rolled his eyes.

“Sorry,” he nudged him, “It just makes me feel special.”

Loki put his back to Clint as though irritated.

“You know,” he pressed himself flush to Loki and wrapped an arm around him, “when you go all stubborn and silent like this it just makes you adorable.”

Loki snorted, “Hardly a word befitting me.”

Clint kissed his shoulder, “That’s a matter of opinion.”

Like a draft sweeping into a room, Clint felt a sudden chill. Every point his body connected with Loki’s took the brunt of the change, and the unusual sensation made him lift his head.

Porcelain skin was disappearing beneath a shroud of dark blue and it spread like dye in bathwater. The very tips of Loki’s fingers were last to be enveloped and Clint rose away to stare in awe.

Loki turned his head to look at him, but his face stopped Clint’s heart. His eyes, a searing blood red, looked angry without trying.

In the next instant, Loki turned away and the process began reversing. The blue retreated starting from his fingertips.

Clint felt a mild panic, “Don’t.”

“It bothers you.”

“No, it doesn’t. It’s just new.” Clint pulled the blanket back to see more of him, “I wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t even know you could do that. It’s like you shape shifted.”

Loki said nothing, but he rolled onto his back and considered the words as Clint hovered above him. He sighed and allowed his skin to flush blue and his eyes to darken red. He looked up, waiting for a sign of disgust. It never came, and instead he was studied as though fascinating and ethereal.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Clint’s brow furrowed.

“ _Or_ like that. I don’t need pity.”

“Sorry. I just… you think you’re a monster because of this.”

“I do _not_ think I’m a _monster_.”

Clint swallowed, “Yeah you do.”

“You,” Loki rose to his elbows sounding insulted, incredulous, and angry, “you _arrogant_ -”

“You’re the God of Lies. You lie to everyone, and that includes yourself. Trapped here with me, you did nothing but lie to yourself. It hurt to watch.”

Loki stared hard and unyielding for five full seconds before he looked away as though defeated. It was clear he no longer desired to continue the conversation.

“I don’t see a monster when I look at you.”

Loki’s nose stabbed in his direction, “You’re blind.”

“I’m the best marksman in the world, I’m hardly blind.” Leaning forward, Clint pressed a kiss to the centerline of Loki’s abdomen. The skin was cool against his mouth, and the contrast made Loki twitch.

Loki stared the length of his body. The color still struck him as foreign, and was more so when a direct comparison insisted on kissing and nuzzling his skin. He watched Clint’s tongue lap at his lower belly and hip. It was distractingly, enticingly pink as it darted out to dampen the blue and turn it a half shade darker. The breath felt hot, hotter than before, and he fidgeted.

Clint licked a long trail up Loki’s inner thigh and positioned himself more comfortably between parted legs. He ran his hands from knees to hips and back again and again. The heat of his tongue transferred to the cool skin as he swiped slow and long from hip to navel.

Loki had an arsenal of insults biting at the tip of his tongue waiting to barrel forward, but he steeled his jaw and watched Clint worship him. These attentions made him weak and he hated it. He wanted to shove Clint and yell at him, tell him he – _they_ \- should know better, but he couldn’t. Instead he let himself collapse beneath the ministrations. Heat grew in his belly until it felt boiling. Once again he was erect and unable to deny he took great pleasure from the combination of sensation and knowledge that Clint _wanted_ him to feel good.

He was teased, made sensitive with anticipation, and admired. It was the admiration that made his lungs catch fire. His shifting legs were accommodated, Clint draping them over his shoulders and back, and it ensured him there was nowhere he needed to be. The sight of their bodies captivated him. His deep blue skin outlined Clint’s like a work of art and gave the fingers over his thigh defining power.

A tongue dipped into the crown of his erection and it had the effect of an almost too hot touch. Initially he jerked away, hissing faintly, but he relaxed and permitted more. Clint progressed carefully at first, pressing a kiss or dragging lips along his erection. His tongue flicked out, forceful and swift, and he nuzzled the black curls at the base where he intentionally exhaled, hot and prolonged, as he drew up.

Loki blinked and swallowed as a thin ribbon of steam rose from his flesh. Clint had seen it and found humor, given his smile, but he bowed his head in the next instant and put a heavy crack in Loki’s composure.

Loki resisted the initial buck of his hips, but he failed to stop the gasp. He sounded like he’d been hit, and the onset of heat may as well have counted as a strike. Clint had taken him in as far as he could but provided mercy by falling still. He braced a hand on Clint’s shoulder, legs already trembling, and thought for a moment he might find release right then and there.

But he held it together despite the strong pulse and too-good burn of Clint’s mouth. He realized he was panting and made an effort to calm his breathing and excitement. Lying flat on the bed resulted in a restless but slight shifting, and his quiet moan of frustration and pleasure said enough.

Clint pulled up, inhaling and stopping at the head of the erection, and then dropped until he’d gone as far as he could without choking. Loki shook beneath his hands and tried to subdue moans behind little hisses and gasps. Clint enjoyed listening to the losing battle and futile attempts at composure; he was driving Loki crazy and he knew it. The hollowing of his cheeks and extending of his tongue along the base of the erection nearly ended things, but it was the slow suck and twist as he lifted off that brought Loki to the brink. Clint focused, brow knit, and gripped the muscular thighs framing him as he descended.

Loki didn’t hear his own cry, as it fell deaf beneath the roar of pleasure barreling in his ears like a tsunami. His body, locking and unlocking to the rhythm of his heart, held him hostage until he spilled the last of his seed. He was shaking, but Clint was scooping him into an embrace that provided solidarity and rest. He melted against him, body hitching from an aftershock, but ignored the tiny hiccup-like noise he’d generated. It was of no consequence, and was soon forgotten beneath the warm hands rubbing his shoulders and back.

The contact in the aftermath felt like an emotional thaw, and it warmed him all over. The foreign feel of his native form dispersed and his skin more closely matched Clint’s pleasing olive tone. His breathing leveled and he let himself be held until the last of his post-orgasm fatigue vanished. If Clint wondered as to why his skin changed back he never voiced it, and in their silence Loki found comfort.

 

 

It wasn’t a big deal. Loki wasn’t human to begin with so Clint didn’t see the problem with blue skin and red eyes and a lower body temperature. If anything, Loki’s colder skin was more sensitive to heat and that leaned in Clint’s favor.

But there was something that bothered him, and he had to confront it. Loki caught onto his tension, and initiated the inevitable conversation while tea was brewing.

“You said it doesn’t bother you, but something clearly weighs on your mind.”

Clint strained the leaves and blew into his tea to cool it, “It doesn’t bother me. I still think you’re drop dead gorgeous whether you’re blue or pale.” He turned and leaned his lower back to the counter, mug in hand. Loki stood, watching him in silence, at the edge of the kitchen.

“Have I done something,” Loki’s eyes drifted to the side in a moment of hesitation and reflection, “in more recent times wrong?”

Clint stared at him and wondered if he was seeing regret or if it were a rouse. Loki looked almost apologetic, or afraid of unintentionally burning the rickety bridge he had constructed with him. It was a complete 180 to the unforgiving and uncompassionate Loki he first met.

Clint sighed, “Why don’t you have any scars? Is that a perk that comes with being a god? You’re a flawless blank slate living somewhere beyond age and blemishes?”

There was an instant, the tiniest flicker through blue eyes, which suggested Loki was ashamed and sorry. It was overpowered by something stronger, something far more tenacious and stubborn.

“Nevermind,” Clint never looked away, “I already know the answer. During New York you were worse for wear but still ‘a god’, but that didn’t mean you were flawless and right now you aren’t the same. I’ve never seen this physical side of you. Are you or aren’t you Loki?”

“I am.” Loki’s tone suggested he took offense at the suggestion he was anyone less.

“Then why are you too perfect to be true? You’re glowing like a dolled up model put through a photo editor and that creeps me the fuck out.”

“You are irate.” Loki abandoned his rigid demeanor.

“You bet I am.”

“You fear I am lying?”

“Can you blame me?”

“No.” Loki walked toward him, “I certainly cannot. It is wise for you to distrust me, and your suspicions are not without merit, as I am a projected manifestation.”

“Projected manifestation? Fancy. What does that even mean?”

“It means I am as here as I can be.”

“So you’re, what, predisposed and I only get a knock off? I had sex with a body double or something?”

Loki stepped within inches of him and took the mug from his hands. The ceramic gave a quiet hiss as it slid across the counter. His fingers curled in the front of Clint’s shirt and pulled him close, but the action was slow and seeking and not at all demanding. Their foreheads nearly touched, and Clint’s eyes darted to the bend of Loki’s mouth before thinking better of such placement and meeting the gaze fixed on him.

Loki patted Clint’s chest to smooth the wrinkles he’d made, “You presume this cheapens things, but I assure you the impact is slight. I can see, taste, smell, and feel everything. This may not be my body by default, but I assure you I am no mere hologram.”

“Yeah, okay. Still seems fishy.”

Loki’s brow knit in mild irritation, “You do not realize what it takes for me to be here as I am. I have made a sacrifice for you, in recent days and earlier, but I imagine the depth of these risks I am taking are beyond you.”

“Then explain it to me.” Clint bumped their noses together, “Where are you? The actual you?”

“In Asgard. Everything is as it should be.”

“I’m not sure I can agree with that.”

“Which is why we are here now.”

“Yeah, a little closure would be nice.”

Loki straightened but his lips formed a playful and forgiving bow, “I’m afraid I can give you very little of that. Nor can I promise isolated faith.”

Clint’s brow creased, “What?”

The smile became adoring but superior as he explained, “Sexual monogamy.”

“Oh, that. Trust me, I didn’t have expectations.”

“You are a realist. It protects you from disappointment, and I imagine that’s important in your employ to SHIELD.”

“Loki,” Clint sighed and held him firm about the waist as though afraid he’d disperse in a cloud of smoke if he didn’t have a part of him to anchor to, “why’d you come back? Why see me?”

Loki regarded him in silence. He felt the pressure of a lie on his tongue but it failed to fully develop. Tension built inside him when Clint looked him straight in the eyes and crippled his silver tongue. He couldn’t look away or through him as he did with everyone else. It was maddening and fascinating.

He licked his lips and swallowed, “Perhaps I wanted seconds.”

“Yeah?”

A pause. Consideration. His eyes darted to one side as though reconsidering before a final leap. Clint knew what had been said, but he looked beyond the veneer.

Loki lowered his eyes and nodded, pressing something into Clint’s hand.

Clint followed Loki’s eyes downward and exhaled with a smile as he palmed the little black pawn. It was the same pawn as before, and though its physical weight was slight Clint now understood the magnitude of the symbol.

He lifted his head and met the eyes already on his, “Then where do we go from here?”

Loki leaned in, “I have suggestions.”

And the kiss was weightless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11-15-2013  
> I'll admit I'm working on a follow-up type thing. After all - Clint promised s'mores. It's not over until s'mores, right?
> 
> Fun note: The first draft of this six part story was originally fives parts and was written in six weeks. I posted nothing until the first draft was complete.
> 
> My thanks to EVERYONE who reviewed. I seriously can't get enough of hearing from all of you and feedback on this last part would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> The follow-up is still a work-in-progress at this point _which means_ now is the time to let me know if there is something you'd really like to see done. What kinds of interactions would you like a peek into? What characters? Any situations? Maybe you can inspire something in me. :)


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